Atonement
by Rebellwithoutacause
Summary: Eight months after being thrown into prison, the time's come for the Saints to get back to work. A new mob boss is moving into Boston, and unless the Saints can send him to the god of his choosing, the streets will run red as the Nile. But to do that, they'll need the help of two women whose involvement in the case only confuses what truth, justice, and atonement truly mean...
1. Prologue

_**So look what we have here ladies and gentlemen. I'm back already! I know I /just/ ended my huge story Wildflower, but this story has been in the works for quite some time. I've been looking forward to jumping fandoms for a while now and I hope that you guys all enjoy my new offering. Never fear, I am not abandoning my promise for a sequel for Wildflower, but I'm just giving myself a mental break. I've been in love with the Boondock Saints universe for some time now, and so now that Wildflower is complete, I figure I'd take a stab at it. Let me know what you all think and I shall reply to your reviews as an author's note prior to each chapter, just as I did in Wildflower. Enjoy my friends! **_

_**Disclaimer: Totally don't own Boondock Saints or anything to do with its universe. I just own my OCs and the plot.**_

* * *

I had always known, or at least suspected, that this wasn't going to go well. I mean, we were confronting three of the most dangerous mobs any of us had ever come across, and it was just the four of us. Two Saints with apparently God given protection from both men and bullets, and two girls who had been on the lam for ten years just looking for a place to get away from the rest of the world, and still make a buck at its expense. But I had sworn to both those men that I would do what I had to do to atone for my sins. As long as I lived, I would never get those pictures out of my head, and despite my faulty memory of years prior, I could never feel something warm in my hands without feeling muscle bucking against me, fighting me off as I struggled for freedom, for respect, for revenge, for justice. I could say it took everything I had in me to go with the boys into this suicide mission, but it didn't. The only thing I regretted was being the cause for the situation in the first place.

Bullets pinged around the narrow hallways, dust and debris kicking up with every shot as concrete and glass shattered. Beside me Jules, Connor, and Murphy were struggling to fire back on our assailants while I loaded up my gun with a fresh clip.

"They're after us hard." Jules panted as she swung her wrist around the corner and popped off another shot. Connor jerked her back out of the way just in time as another bullet went flying.

"Oh state the obvious!" Murphy retorted as he squeezed off another few rounds, trying to keep our attackers at bay.

"Persistent bastard!" Connor yelled down the hall as he shot again. I skidded back to the opposite wall and fired again. I loved the feeling of the kickback in my palm, being in control of such a powerful weapon. It made me feel alive. I shivered with the rush and looked up at Murphy, his face smeared with blood and grit but I knew he wasn't badly wounded. His blue eyes met mine with that same fierce determination, that same almost wicked energy. How he had ever managed to become a Saint I'll never know, and I also won't care. All I want is to get all of us out of here alive.

"You lassies got a plan to get us out of here?" Connor asked as we heard raucous voices and footsteps pounding up the hall.

I whipped my head and locked eyes with Jules. She nodded sharply and I got up to my feet, hauling Murphy up at the same time.

"_Qui_. Jules, you lead, you remember more than I do."

She nodded sharply and fired another shot down the hall before we took off running again. Our boots struggled for grip on the slick, dusty floors as we careened down a corner and sped up again, heading for what appeared to be a dead end but revealed itself to be another twisted turn that took us down a hall of windows on one side and doors on the other. I had vague flashes of this hallway from my fried out memory. Sunlight streaming in so bright that it hurt, the slam of the metal doors, rain and wind lashing at the glass panes during violent storms.

"Come on!" Jules howled over the sound of more gunfire. I yelped as I felt a bullet go whizzing by my head. My feet tangled up underneath me and I went sprawling face first into the floor, sliding on the linoleum and dust, my face scraping the floor hard as I struggled to get my feet up under me. I cried out in surprise and fear when I felt another bullet go rocketing over my body and striking into our target door just fifteen feet ahead of us. I twisted on the ground and saw our enemy running straight for us, guns blazing.

Murphy snarled something in Irish that sounded like a very damning curse. He swung back around and together with his brother let out a blaze of gunfire, giving Jules time to haul me to my feet since I couldn't seem to get my limbs to coordinate. Murphy and Connor drove our pursuers back down the hall and then all four of us turned and fled, Connor shooting the lock on the door that blocked our way out of the hall. We fled up the stairs, spiraling up and up and up some more, our lungs screaming and our leg muscles burning ferociously, all the while adrenaline slammed in my veins. I was actually laughing as we came crashing through the door on the top floor, spilling out into the quieter hall, but we could still hear our pursuers just behind us. We kept running, boots slamming the floor like the pounding of horses hooves as we crashed through the hall, bullets starting to fly again as our enemies came up behind us. I swung around and fired again, throwing my arms up when I felt the bullets and bits of concrete begin to fly again as we were shot at yet again.

"Come on!" Murphy yelled. He hauled me by the shoulders and dragged me away from my determined stance to kill those bastards that had tried for so long to destroy us. He pushed me through another door that slammed shut behind us and we took another flight of stairs up and this time when we reached the ending door, we spilled out onto the roof of the building.

"We're trapped!" Connor howled miserably as we all struggled up to our feet and out onto the wide-open rooftop. It was at least a ten story drop down to the ground, there was no way we were gonna make it without at the very least a broken leg, if not a snapped neck.

"They'll slaughter us like cattle up here." Murphy cursed. He shoved his last clip into his gun and looked at me as I mimicked his actions, my chest heaving for breath.

"Not so fast boys." I panted. Jules and I went running to the side of the roof, and saw, with great delight, a coil of heavy duty rope. I tossed it at Connor who caught it unexpectedly, staring at me like I'd grown another head, but only for a second before he rounded on his twin.

"Did you…?" he stuttered. Murphy shook his head and Jules and I just grinned.

"Hurry it up Con, we don't have all day." Jules panted. Her tussled blonde hair was flying everywhere, streaked with dust and grime, but somehow she still looked beautiful.

"Aye." The Irishman panted, although he was still looking at her with a mixture of wonderment in his eyes. When Murphy smacked him upside the head he started and ran towards the edge of the wall with Jules to rig the rope. Murphy turned to me and I faced him in kind. Both of us had a single clip left for each gun and both of us were bleeding from various flesh wounds, but he still had that fire in his eyes and it swept through me like flames burning on a prairie with nothing to stand in its way. Whether real or imagined, I heard thunder snarling overhead and lightening cracking and I smiled at him.

"You ready for this shit?" I asked him.

He loaded a bullet into the chamber of both his guns and gave me that look again, the one that made lightening blaze down my spine and made me feel like I could conquer the whole world. His blue eyes blazed with sapphire flames and he smirked at me so wickedly he surely could not be the Saint I knew he truly was.

"Let's do some gratuitous violence."

* * *

**_A/N: Short I know, but it's just a prologue. Everything after this is considerably longer. What do you think so far? Let me know! _**


	2. Chapter One

_**Well hello again my friends! Much thanks to everyone who reviewed, and a special shout out to WinterIsComing01 for giving me some advice on the French language =D Also, on the subject of the French language, and the other various foreign languages I'll be using in this story, I'm including their translations in parentheses directly following the quote because I hate having to scroll up and down to the end for a glossary, breaks up the flow in my opinion. Enjoy guys! Also, bonus points to anybody recognizes the songs from which the Chapter titles come from (which I have to include in the actual post because apparently the site has decided to put a limit on the title length) **_

**murphyisawesome**: _nice story i like but i hope that u dont make murphy gay cause it would just ruwen the whole story but really good writing 10/10 _

Haha, don't worry, I won't, I like Murphy as a straight boy, more love for the ladies ;) Thanks for writing in!

**WiterIsComing01**:_ very intense opening scene...also just FYI - "Qui" in French means that/which/who - "oui" is yes, "ouais" is a way to say "yeah". Also, when asked a negative question, "si" is used to affirm (eg "Aren't you going to school?" "Si!" (yes)) Make sense? :-)_

Yay, advice on the French language! There shall be copious lines of foreign languages, all of which I'll be using Google translate, so if it becomes butchered, may I have forgiveness in advance? It is lovely to see you again my friend =)

**Shorty22133**:_ Nice! I think it's hillarious that i stumbled upon your story, seeing your 'Wildflower' story reference in your author note... I'm in the process of reading 'Wildfire', which is FANTASTIC btw. This BDS story is really good and i can't wait to read more!_

Awesome, I'm glad you happened upon this story and gave it a chance, and I hope you stick around for a while more!

* * *

__"We're Going Down, Down, and Sugar We're Going Down Swinging..."

_May 12th_

Summer in New Orleans is no joke. I mean I knew that going in, having spent a decent amount of time in the South before, but every single day I woke up slicked with sweat and tangled in my sheets in the apartment I shared with my only companion in life thinking _you know at some point I may just melt into a puddle of goo and then the cops can call in early for the day. Coffee and beignets all around! _

But it never does. You'd think being close to the coast that would have some kind of mitigating factors. Hah, yeah, right, and true love can mitigate laws against interracial marriage pre-Civil Rights Movement in the South. Note the healthy dose of cynicism. Its something you get good at having when you live like I do.

Even at night its still unbearably warm out, mostly thanks to the humidity which traps the heat in the moisture-laden air and holding it against your skin like a wet blanket. Every morning I was questioning why the hell we stayed in this place, but we hadn't yet found the inspiration to take off again. We, which includes myself, Willow Schmitt, and Jules King. The only saving grace of this entire city was its tourism, gambling, and the fact that you can still sometimes find someone to speak French too. (Montreal was just way too damn cold to even consider hiding out in, plus our lack of Passports pretty much shoots that plan in the face.) Albeit its broken, Creole French, but hey, I'll take what I can get.

I sat up on my futon and felt my hair sticking up in all kinds of crazy ways after having been wrangled into a rat's nest from tossing and turning all night, trying to find some position where I wouldn't sweat out every drop of fluid in my entire body. When we'd first moved down South I had cut it short, almost higher than my ears, but it had grown since then and its longest layers rested at the base of my neck, the color caught somewhere between dark and milk chocolate, in the right light little streaks of caramel would go through it. On the best of days the waves are lightly tussled, almost to the point of curls, and fall in a sultry mess around my face. On the worst of days (almost every single day below the Mason Dixon line), nothing I could do would persuade it into obeying, and the strands would go anywhere from curls to waves to frizz. I'd given up after a while of dealing with it. Why bother when I usually needed to look a bit roughed up anyway.

Jules was still asleep on her futon, her long limbs splayed out every which way, honey blonde hair cascaded all over her back and mussed over her face. Normally Jules was up before me, but I hadn't been able to sleep last night. Correction; I hadn't been able to sleep well. There's definitely a difference. I'd been plagued by dreams. Half remembered memories of a time that all I wanted was to let fade into the dark dusty corners of my brain where the rest of my life had disappeared in. But it wasn't just _those _dreams that bothered me. I'd dealt with those for years now. No, there had been a new one tonight. I'd seen a flash of lightening and an empty rooftop. I'd heard howls of wind and smelt cigarettes and whiskey and gunpowder. I felt a hot flush of skin beneath my palms, muscle rocking underneath my nails, my own body pushing back hard, but I was not afraid or angry, I felt electrified…alive. Coarse sable strands slipping through my fingers and a warm voice tinged with a heavy accent floating down my ear but the words had faded with the dream. I'd seen a rosary and heard the cadence of a prayer and felt a rush of excitement and something that might have been fear spill through my veins like water over my skin in the shower. I shivered again and reached over into my duffle bag and grabbed my journal and pen, snatching it up, dating the page, and scribbling everything I could remember, both good and bad, my thoughts on it, which were to the effect of never go to bed without having calmed down the night before or dreams get weird. I still wasn't done by the time Jules rolled over and sat up.

"Dreams again?" she asked me as she pushed her thick hair away from her face so she could breathe properly.

"_Ouais._" I said as I finished scribbling in the journal. It was a twice a day ritual. Write down my dreams when I woke up, and write down my day before I hit the sack. My faulty memory mandated that I do this, and so ever since Jules and I had been on the road I'd kept up with it. I went through so many notebooks, but I always carry them with me, just in case.

"The same or different?" she asked as she pulled her knees up to her chest and stretched her arms over her head, pulling by her wrists until her spine curved just like a cat's and her back popped so loud I could hear it. My stomach turned a little at the sound (it's a thing, don't ask) but I was used to it so I didn't make a comment.

"Some of the same. One different though." I told her.

She nodded and tussled her thick hair again. "Me too. Can I see?" she asked, looking to the journal that I had just finished. I nodded and handed it to her and then got up to my feet. Jules and I shared everything, and I often made it a point to tell her my dreams or any snatches of memory that I had so I could get a perspective outside of my own. I left my futon unmade and padded into the bathroom, the cheap tile beneath my feet dusty and just slightly cooler than the rest of the apartment. I could have sprawled against it to cool off if not for what I was afraid might be lingering on its surface.

"You sure this is what you saw?" she asked me. I was in our small bathroom twisting the nobs for the shower, running it just barely lukewarm and once under the spray I'd turn it to even colder so I could cool off a bit.

"Yeah, why?" I asked as I shrugged out of my oversized T-shirt and underwear. I glanced in the mirror and sighed. I'd forgotten to take my eyeliner off last night and so now it was all smudged and skewed. No matter, the shower would strip it and I'd start over.

"Cause I had the same dream."

I snagged a towel and tucked it around myself before peering back into the main room of our studio apartment.

"Huh?" I asked. I was sure I hadn't heard her.

She set my journal back into my bag and then turned back to me. "I had the same dream. The new one, on the rooftop. I saw a rosary too and heard a man saying a prayer. I heard gunfire."

I narrowed my eyes. "Am I still dreaming?" I asked softly.

She flashed me a smile and reached her hand out and stroked my messy hair and my cheek. "_Non ma chérie. Nous sommes tout simplement fatigué_." (No sweetheart. We're just tired) I leaned into the touch for a moment and smiled.

"_Pas de repos pour le bien que fatigué. Temps pour aller travailler._" (No rest for the weary though. Time to go to work) I answered back. She nodded her head and nudged me towards the shower.

"I'll make some coffee." She told me, turning away and padding towards the tiny kitchen. I stepped further into the bathroom and stared longingly at the tub and decided that tonight when we came back from work that I would take a long, long soak and maybe just fall asleep early.

I stood under the cool spray and let the water attempt to spurn me with a little bit more energy. As I was going through my routine and I caught sight of my wrists and the dark band of ink encircling both. Flashes of golden streets, chilly air, the warm smell drifting in from the _boulangerie _(bakery) as my child hands curled around the intricately designed iron wrought balcony railing from our flat. As much as I could remember of that design I'd had inked around both of my wrists, encircling a single word on each that was drawn on right where the radial pulse beats; on my left 'Don't Think' and on my right 'Just Breathe'. It was a daily mantra, and I was glad to be able to look down and physically see it whenever I needed that reminder.

I finished up my shower and set to work on the rest of my morning routine. It would be hot as blazes outside today, but because of my predisposition to get red and crispy when exposed to sunlight, I shrugged into a pair of black jeans rather than my shorts and a plain white t-shirt and my well worn black and white Converse shoes. There was no need for me to get all gussied up, that was Jules' job. I mean if I put effort into it, I could look pretty too, but that would have defeated our purpose. I preferred a rough and tumble look which is why I didn't bother even brushing my hair as it began to dry, letting the messy waves do as they liked. By the time I was smudging a bit of fresh eyeliner around my hazel eyes I could smell the coffee Jules had made up.

"_Je vous remercie, qu'aurais-je jamais faire sans toi?"_ (Thank you, what would I ever do without you?) I scooped up my cup and sipped it long and slow, savoring every inch of flavor I could.

"_Je suis ici cherie._" (I'm over here sweetheart) Jules responded with a slight snicker from across the room.

"I know. I was talking to the coffee." I sassed. Jules rolled her eyes and I chuckled a bit, leaning up against the counter and watching Jules look through her racks of clothing for something wear today.

"What are we running today?" she asked me as she flipped through her various outfits.

I tilted my head. "What day is today again?" I asked.

"It's Thursday _petite amie _(sweetie)." She reminded me and I nodded my head in response.

"Let's not overkill it. Let's run the lonely hero play, I have my running shoes on." I said, curling my tongue around my teeth as I took another sip of coffee.

Jules bright blue eyes glittered. "Red or blue?" she asked, running her fingers down two different outfits.

"Blue. Brings out your eyes." I told her. She plucked the outfit off the rack and went into the bathroom to start getting ready. Jules is a master actress. She can play any part she needs to in order to get what we need to live off of. A damsel in distress, a simpering cheerleader, a sultry vixen, and damn does she have the body to do it. Long, long legs, slinking hips that just love to be held by silk, satin, leather, lace, denim, or cotton, a well toned core, elegant shoulders, and a neck that harkens back to regal marble statues when she piles her thick hair on the top of her head either in a messy clip or an elegant up-do, and always she makes sure to take advantage of her ample cleavage. Just enough to warrant a second look, not a full on leering stare. Golden skin that was neither dark enough to be considered a true tan but not pale enough to warrant being trapped beneath clothing all the time like mine to avoid being baked by the sun. I had ventured to ask Jules on a multitude of occasions why she ran around with the likes of me when she could have had any modeling or actress job she wanted. And she'd fix me with her crystal blue eyes and smile and remind me that if she had either of those jobs she would never be able to eat another beignet again. And I would laugh, but my heart would blaze with heat, because I could see what she really meant behind her eyes. It was one of the only things in the world I was grateful for.

Now, I make no pretense about it. Jules and I, we don't make what you could call an honest living. We're hustlers, which is a way of saying con artists without saying it. We run the grift as it were, and over the years, we've gotten damn good at it. We're not interested in long scams, because by definition, it takes too long, and the payout is not really a guarantee, plus it gets way to sticky and tangled up for our tastes. No, we run fast scams. Does that make us thieves? Let me tell you something I've learned in the ten years I've been doing this. You can't con an honest man. And now you might be thinking 'well sure, you can't con an honest man, but you can still trick him out of his money.' Is taking advantage of someone's idiocy a crime?

Didn't think so.

It's not a crime if you can convince someone to give you money. Panhandlers do it every day. So do gold diggers. Sure, it might not be respectable, sure it might be dangerous, but me and Jules decided a long time ago that we weren't going to live like beggars, and we weren't shacking up with any guy with a wad of cash looking for a good time, because then we'd be no better than whores, and Jules and I might be a lot of things, but that ain't one of them.

It didn't take long for Jules to finish up. When she stepped out of the bathroom she had on a short sleeve royal blue blouse with the top button undone and a much darker blue skirt that came about halfway from her hip to her knee, just short enough to tease, and a pair of gold heels. Not that she needed the height, without them she already stood at impressive five nine, but with them they knocked her up to about five eleven. Her eyes were done up with soft, natural brown and golden eye shadows to bring out the blue with just a tiny bit of black liner carefully applied for a stronger effect, nothing like my heavy smudges that were just shy of careless. She'd pinned up her honey blonde hair with a large butterfly clip that sparkled with fake crystals. You'd never know by looking at her right now, but on her long golden back was a stark black tattoo of two wolves in full stride, legs outstretched, back flexed, ears pinned back, thick plumed tails curled inwards towards the small of her back while their noses were stretched up towards her shoulder blades, aiming for the full moon inked between them, but the moon itself was also a wolf's eye. She'd gotten it all done in a single session and even though Jules could take a lot of pain, even she was glad when it was over, and on the rare occasion when opportunity offered, she loved to parade around in a backless shirt or dress in order to show it off. We only got those chances when we were somewhere new and nobody had the chance to recognize us yet.

"Why don't you look delicious." I laughed as I dropped back down to my futon and dug around in my duffle for our shared box of cash and costume jewelry. I handed Jules the set of matching royal blue necklace, bracelet, and earrings. She quickly donned them and then double checked in the mirror. I dove my hand back into the bag and pulled out two leather cuffs that I quickly slipped onto my wrists, covertly hiding my tattoos. I hate hiding them, I really do, but I'm no fool. Their distinctive markings, and the goal is to blend in. I also picked up another tennis bracelet made of costume jewelry but we had kept it cleaned and polished so the fake stones sparkled like diamonds. To add to what I had on me was a deck of playing guards, a pack of cigarettes and my zippo lighter. I only had a couple smokes left in the pack but I also had a wad of cash tucked away in there as well. The bracelet I kept in my hand, the deck of cards, smokes, and my lighter I tucked into my pockets for later.

"You ready to go?" I asked as I downed the rest of my coffee.

"Let's rock and roll." Jules said, flashing me a smirk. She picked up a matching blue clutch with some cash inside and we left the apartment together, however we very quickly parted ways. We'd be back together soon enough though, on Bourbon Street, ready and willing to take advantage of an idiot who was just looking to give his money away.

Our plan is simple, and it works like a charm. Jules finds a guy, lonely, maybe a little bit desperate, and strikes a conversation with him. They walk and talk and she flirts just a bit, but then grows sad and tells him that yesterday while she was out some kid ran up and ripped her bracelet right off her wrist and ran off with it. She lures him into feeling sorry for her, telling her that if he'd of been there he'd of chased that little punk down, smacked him a good one, and brought her bracelet back. And she'd say that she'd reward him handsomely if that was the case. And he'd say well wouldn't that be so sweet of her. I'd be a safe distance away, watching the exchange, and Jules would give me a signal whether the mark was falling for it or not. If he was, she'd open her clutch with her left hand, the one with the bracelet. If he wasn't and she didn't think he'd go for it, she'd brush her long bangs to the side. If he was going to go for it, she'd take him by the arm and lazily wander up the street, enjoying each other's company, until there was a sufficient crowd. And then low and behold who turns up but the thief, aka me, holding the bracelet, looking for a pawn shop to sell it too, or, someone on the street, anybody who looks interested. Jules would excitedly point me out, and the man, having fallen for her con and expecting a reward (of any sort, monetary or otherwise) would approach me and demand that I give him the bracelet back.

"Well what do I get for it?" I demanded, slipping back further into the crowd, twining my fingers around the bracelet so the little stones flashed in the sunlight as I lured the mark a little bit further away from Jules. We always did this in a crowd in case the mark ever decided to get violent, much less chance of him pulling a weapon on me to steal it back. We also specifically targeted marks more liable to use less angry methods of persuasion.

"Come on kid, just give it to me, it's not yours, stealing's wrong." He told me, looking down at me like I was an insolent teenager. You have no idea how bad that look makes me want to beat the shit out of people. I'm fucking twenty-five years old, not some spoiled fourteen-year-old brat.

"I'm perfectly willing to give it back, without a scene, I just want a fair price. Finders keepers." I said. When he hadn't quite cracked I shrugged my shoulders, spun on my heel, and started to walk at a quick pace through the crowd to make a getaway. I felt him run up behind me, breath catching in his chest.

"Ok, ok, here!" he hissed. I allowed him to get in front of me, knowing I had another method of escape if I needed it, and he opened up his wallet.

"All of it." I demanded.

His eyes narrowed. "What do you take me for?" he snapped.

"A very smart man who if he plays his cards right can walk back a hero to his lovely blonde friend and be well rewarded." I answered. I jerked my head in Jules' direction who was waiting at the far end of the street, looking our way anxiously. I smirked at him and tilted an eyebrow, curling my lip just slightly. I could see it in the mark's face, he was cracking, the greed was taking over. He jerked out all of the cash he had and pressed it into my hand. I smiled and gratefully handed him back the bracelet.

"Thanks a lot hoss." I said before slipping away into the crowd, pulling out my pack of smokes and tucking the money inside before pulling a cigarette out and lighting it up, mingling back into the crowd, the shimmering waves of heat soaking into the concrete as I left the mark empty handed and exhaled a plume of smoke. The flavor of the tobacco and nicotine curled through my mouth and I smiled as I took another drag. When I was a safe distance away I pulled out the smokes again and counted how much I'd gotten. Hundred and fifty bucks.

"Drinks are on me tonight." I chuckled. We liked to hit the tourists in the morning when they were liable to still have most of their cash on them. Drunken marks were some times easier to con, but no matter the time of day Jules always came through for me during these little stunts. I didn't always make this much, but whenever I did, I was grateful.

I stole away from the street I'd been trolling and wandered around the city. Jules's next play would be to gush with gratitude for the mark, spend another couple of hours with him, exchange phone numbers, agree to call, and then rush off saying she was meeting with her friends. And of course, never call back. Cause we're not whores, remember? We'd meet back up later at the flat, meanwhile I would keep my head down and start looking for places to troll for tomorrow. Jules and I tried not to run more than one scam a day, because conditions had to be right, and if people started recognizing us, then we'd have to bail out of town again, and that was just not comfortable. We had a cache of money squirrelled away in the event we had to run quick, but it wasn't something we liked to do. We were good at it, but after ten years, it was getting tiring.

I eventually found myself wandering down near the Mississippi River. On the one bank it was full of industry, sky scrapers, noise, and all things that would benefit someone like me. On the other it was almost an entirely different world; green grass, swaying trees, small houses and neighborhood streets. I always came down to the river because it reminded me of the river Seine in Paris and the one time I think I'd been happy without anything tainting it.

"Of course you were happy then. You were a child." I muttered angrily to myself. I pulled out my last cigarette and it lit it up, sucking in the carcinogens like there was no tomorrow. For someone like me, there might not be. I stuck to the city side of the river and kept my eyes peeled, a habit I'd long since learned. As I walked up and down the street, looking for potential marks, I started catching sight of some seedy guys pacing up and down the sidewalks. Seedy was probably the wrong word. Threatening was more accurate. There was nothing in particular that alerted me to the difference of their presence, except for the fact that maybe there was so many of them present. They were all tall, all of their shoulders straining at their shirts, hard jaws, scars, some tattooed, chunky jewelry on their wrists or fingers, and all hard eyes sweeping over the street. I recognized these guys. They were the cronies of one Calvin Dane, resident top gangster of New Orleans. Anybody that does anything illegal in this city knows Dane. And therefore, Jules and I know Dane. Mostly because we'd made the mistake of trolling for marks in one of his clubs and he'd promptly thrown us out after groping Jules and bruising the back of my neck with the force of his grip as he'd literally tossed us out into the street with a warning that if he ever caught us trying to grift money from his club again that he'd have us working as whores in the back booths of his strip joint faster than we could say 'please.' Dane had come into the gangster world with an iron fist and a long chain that he had no problems cracking over the backs of anybody who got in his way, and he'd keep cracking until they went for broke and ran for their lives, or died. He also didn't mind using that chain to strangle the other members of the competition. Ever since he'd shown up here, he'd systematically, bought out, driven off, or killed anybody that got in his way. He owns the city now, and even the cops know it. They'd tried multiple times to charge him with anything they could, drugs, prostitution, murder, trafficking, anything, but nothing could stick. They couldn't even get parking tickets on him because he's paid off or blackmailed more or less every judge in this town. Cause Dane is a very clever man. I don't know exactly how he hides the evidence of what he does, but however he does it, he's damn good at it. My guess is that he's paying experts of some sort, maybe even cops, to help him dispose of anything that could link him to a crime. But of course I don't ask. That's a great way to get killed. You don't ask questions in this place.

I turned to go. I wasn't interested in tangling with Dane's boys tonight. I'm a tough girl, I know how to handle myself, but against bruisers like these, when its just me, and I'm unarmed, I'd really rather not. But I hadn't gotten more than a block away when I felt someone's presence behind me. I paused and felt the steps behind me do the same.

_Paging Will Schmitt, flight number 2367 to the gates of Hell is now boarding. _

I turned on my heel and was faced with probably the least intimidating of Dane's thugs. I remembered him from the night Jules and I had been kicked out of Dane's club. He was a tall, handsome black man with neatly kept dreads tied behind his head, the flash an understated gold chain around his neck. His shoulders moved fluidly beneath his leather jacket, and even beneath the cloth I could all but see the ripple of his well-muscled biceps. He'd been the mark that Jules had set upon, and if I remember correctly she'd said his name was Dominic.

"Willow, how nice to see you again." He said, his sharp white teeth flashing in the growing darkness that was quickly being pushed back by the multitude of neon and headlights that were starting to light up the city.

"Dominic right?" I asked, deciding to play cool for the moment.

He nodded and flashed another smile. I might have trusted it, if it weren't for that crawling feeling in my gut that said this was not going to end well for me. I shook it off anyway. "How have you been, Willow?" he continued as we moved a little closer to one of the buildings to allow foot traffic to pass us on the sidewalk uninterrupted.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Please, call me Will. And I can't complain." I answered, pulling out my deck of playing cards and beginning to shuffle them. It was something I did when I grew nervous, not that Dom had to know that.

"Good I'm glad. It was lucky of me to come across you this evening, Cal wouldn't mind having a word with you," he said to me, and now his eyes darkened. The gold around his neck flashed in the thin light from the streetlight a few yards ahead of us, but the darkness around the doorstep we were crowding was getting thicker. My heart beat faster beneath my ribs but I exhaled coolly, wishing like hell for a cigarette, or a shot of whiskey to steady my hands.

"Would he now? Why's that?" I asked. I thumbed my cards again and leaned against the brick of the nearest building and kept my cool even as Dom traced his thumb against his lower lip.

"Well that's his business isn't it? I'm just the messenger," he told me, and I saw the look in his eyes. It was a press, a push against my liberty. It was not a forceful snatch, but it was a firm coax of an imaginary hand beneath my chin pulling me along. I instinctively knew that Dom could get rough if he wanted to, but he was a gentleman, as much as one could be in his shoes, and so he'd play nice, but only for so long. This wasn't a request. He leaned towards me a bit and I saw the handgun in its holster beneath his arm hidden by his jacket. My heart thumped harder in my chest, sweat breaking out on the small of my back and my neck. My feet were getting those little electric pulses that always happened when I was about to have to run, possibly for my life. I'd done it before, but it usually ended up with me racing back to the flat, Jules and I shoving everything in our bags, and driving all night until we were sure we'd left our last town in the dust.

"I haven't done anything." I said firmly. I shuffled the cards again, taking in a deep breath to steady myself.

Dom shrugged. "I know that. You're no fool, Will, you wouldn't screw Dane twice. But as you're not a fool, you'll also know that you should come with me."

I shook my head. "Come on Dom, don't play around like that. You do think I'm an idiot if you think I'm going with you alone."

He actually chuckled a little and flicked his dreads back over his shoulder. "Dane said you would say that. He also said to tell you that he knows about you, Jules, Boston, and Redfield, and that unless you want both your pictures on the front page news by tomorrow morning to come with me." Now his voice was firm with just a little edge, like the gleam of light on the blade of a knife.  
My breath caught hard in my throat and even my well practiced poker face was fast enough to hide it. Dom's eyes loosened with a knowing look and maybe even a little bit of sympathy. I'd of never pegged him for a gangster just by first glance, he really didn't seem the type, but I still knew not to push my luck. If Dane trusted him, then that mean he had a reason. My heart was racing in my chest, sweat starting to bead in the small of my back and the base of my neck. I wished like hell for a breeze but there was none and already my thoughts were racing. Dom was staring at me expectantly, waiting for my answer.

I pushed off the wall, flicked one of the cards out of the deck loose and then stowed the rest. "Got a pen?" I asked.

He nodded and dipped into the pocket inside his jacket and pulled a felt tip loose and handed it to me. I popped the cap and took the ace of spades I'd pulled free and scrawled a message on the card before handing the pen and the card back to Dom. He stared at it with a confused expression for a moment.

"Take that to Dane, it will pacify him. I'm no fool, I'm not going anywhere near Dane, not without Jules with me. You take that to him, and we'll be in touch." I smiled briefly to help smooth the situation over. "_Je vais revenir._" (I'll be back)

I turned on my heel and walked away, not giving him room to negotiate. I expected Dom to follow me but after three blocks, well outside of the thickets bits of Dane's territory I looked back and he wasn't there. I breathed a little easier but all the same, I picked up the pace. As soon as I had the chance I found a payphone and put in a call.

"Hello?" Jules voice immediately comforted me.

"Come meet me at _Voodoo Child. _Drinks are on me." I said. I tried to keep my voice light but I found myself shaking anyway. Jumbled memories and thoughts were starting to pound into my brain like those foam hammers on whack-a-mole at the arcade. Everything felt hazy and thick and oppressive, just like the unrelenting humidity.

Jules picked up on the stress in my voice immediately. She was always able to see through anything that was going on with me, no matter what it was. "Are you all right? Did something happen?" she asked, becoming more concerned.

"No I'm fine, but I need to see you, and the house is too crowded." 'Crowded' was code for that someone still could be following me and I didn't want to lead anybody back to where we lived but we needed to be in person.

"Ok. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"I'm on my way, should take me twenty with traffic. Get me a drink if you can. Bye." I hung up the phone and headed back up the street, wishing like hell I had another smoke. Heat lightning flashed overhead and a rumble of the thunder growled in the darkened sky and I thought back to my dream and wondered if the ominous storm overhead was related to the darkness in my own mind.


	3. Chapter Two

**_And we're back, this time with the appearance of who we came for, the lovely MacManus twins. I apologize for my egregious delay in posting this chapter, I recently picked up a new job so I've been quite a bit busier than I expected to be. I hope you enjoy and please let me know with the review box below, merci! _**

**WinterIsComing01**: _Title - Fall Out Boy "Sugar We're Going Down". MMMM COFFEE AND BEIGNETS. I'LL HAVE THIRTY, THANKS. So I like the New Orleans setting. It's dangerous, it's country, it's mystical all at the same time. I like that Will and Jules are hustlers starting out and run cons on people. How interesting! I'll PM with some more insight on the French :-)_

Bonus points to the lovely lady for knowing the title! =D I'll be even more impressed if you know this next one because the song is not anywhere nearly as well known. Ever since I came back from Paris I have been craving Beignets something fierce, its ridiculous, just thinking about them makes my teeth ache for the sugary goodness. Mm, the Big Easy, I have yet to actually go there, but its a perfect mix of city and 'boondocks' (I grew up in the real boondocks as it were) and it has an awesome element of creepiness because of the voodoo and hauntings and all that good stuff, and just the setting with the Spanish moss dangling from ancient gnarled trees and insufferably warm night air just bodes well for my Muse. Because I couldn't be a criminal even if I wanted to be, I had to do quite a bit of research on street cons and how they're run which was interesting and a tad frightening to say the least. Merci for sticking around!

* * *

"…And Then I'll Try To Remember All The Advice That My Good Book Told Me…"

_May 17th_

The Hoag was by no means a quiet place. No prison ever really was, but Lord's fucking name, he was tired of it. They both were. Both of them were wound up tighter than a hound dog on a short chain being teased by a rabbit. All day and all night they were dealing with the racket caused by the other inmates, and the eventual shouting of the prison guards which only added to the din. The sound of metal clanging on metal, raucous voices, slamming doors and bodies hitting bodies, it was starting to become the background noise inside their skulls.

They'd been stuck in this place for the past eight months. Eight months and both of them already were about to lose their minds. The stupid fucking judge had denied them bail, so even if they could have scraped the money together somehow they weren't getting out. Too much of a flight risk he'd said. Who the hell did he think they were? Fucking cowards who would run out now? Hell no. They wanted their damn day in court, they weren't pussyfoots like the gangsters they shot to shit on multiple occasions. They weren't afraid. They had done nothing wrong.

Well, according to the law they had, but the priest had said that the laws of God are higher than the laws of man. And God had given them a duty to perform and here they were, trapped behind bars, restlessly chomping at the bit while men fucked around with paperwork, lawyers, and court dates. The only thing they had to keep each other sane was each other. They stopped each other from getting into trouble, from picking a fight with the other inmates. So far most of the guards had been decent, and someone in administration had worked it so they were allowed to share a cell, but beyond that…beyond that there was nothing they had going for them. Romeo had died from his injuries within the first three days of being in prison, the wounds he'd sustained in the battle with the Roman finally coming to claim him. Murphy still remembered standing over the body with his twin at his side, offered the very brief chance to say goodbye when his uncle came to collect the body.

"_And shepherds we shall be. For thee my Lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand, so that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command. And we shall flow a river forth for Thee, and teaming with souls shall it ever be. In Nomeni Patri, Et Fili, Spiritus Sancti." _They had murmured the prayer in Spanish but they both felt ill at ease without the pennies to place over his eyes. After they'd been marched back to their cell and locked in they had stared long and hard at each other, guilt and disgust roiling through their veins.

"God will look after him." Connor had murmured softly, watching the way Murphy's hands squeezed the edge of the bunk so hard that his knuckles were white. The stark blue tattoo on his forefinger rang like a metal hammer against a drum through his skull. Justice. Murphy wanted justice for the slaying of their father, their friends, and their undue imprisonment.

"Aye." He acknowledged quietly. But when he looked up and met his twin's eyes, there was a silent, mutual understanding. They had both suffered tremendous losses since they'd been trapped in this place. Only eight years they'd had to try and learn who their Da had been, and who he had become, and to have him ripped away so soon after returning to the task that God set for them, it had shaken their faith hard.

"How did Da do twenty five years in here?" Murphy whispered, getting up from his bunk and pacing round the narrow cell like an animal in a cage. It was what this place made him feel like. It made him feel less than human, like all of his reason and sense had been stripped free of his bones with bleach and left him raw and exposed. His temper hovered much closer to the surface than it had been before. Murphy had always been the slightly more volatile of the two, more liable to bait someone into a fight, just to have some place for his energy to go.

"I asked him that once. Never did answer me." Connor responded. He wished like hell he had a cigarette, but since being thrown in here they'd been deprived. That alone had been torture the first month or so, going without their daily intake of nicotine. Connor had just barely been able to get a handle on Murphy long enough so he didn't attack people for the tiniest slight because the chemicals in his brain had yet to stabilize without the stimulant. It was a little easier for Murphy at night, but Connor was the more restless of the two during the night hours. Murph had done what he'd could to try and ease his twin's agitation, but it only went so far.

Another nameless night, because dates and times and months didn't have meaning in here, and both boys were asleep in their bunks, shifting and tossing restlessly. Murphy had never thought he'd miss their drafty loft in south Boston, the lack of heat and hot water, the smell of damp stone, cigarettes, spilled beer and whiskey, and whatever cheap takeout they'd gotten their hands on for dinner since neither of them had any experience in the kitchen. He'd of given almost anything to be back there. And when he'd finally fallen asleep on this nameless night, it was not an easy rest. He was stalked by dreams, as he was prone to do these days, but this one was different. Connor stood at his shoulder, they were in their pea coats even though the air was relatively warm. They looked at each other and met eyes carefully. This was akin to the dream they'd had when Rocco had encouraged them to do what had to be done, reminded them of why and what for they did their deeds.

They stood upon an empty rooftop on an unfamiliar building. There were no other buildings around, in the distance they saw the tops of trees swaying back and forth loosely, the breezing bringing with it the smell of impending rain. The brothers locked eyes again and took a pace forward, waiting to see if one of their fallen comrades would come to meet them, but there was nothing. Nothing but the sound of the wind hissing through the trees. Until the sky tore itself to shreds with a bolt of lightening so powerful and a crack of thunder so loud both men clapped their hands to their ears and dropped straight to the ground. On and on it went, but slowly it morphed from thunder to an equally familiar sound. Gunfire. The smell of gunpowder filled their nose and smoke began swirling around them. Murphy felt the beads of his rosary tightening around his neck, but not in a threatening way, in a tangled sort of way. Voices howled around his head, none of them recognizable and as the smoke thickened he called out for Connor, groping blindly to try and reach his brother in the wall of smoke that had suddenly converged around them.

"Connor!" he yelled. Somewhere in the smoke he heard his own name and his brother's voice. He searched desperately but as they called for each other, it seemed as if they were being forced further apart. Another voice called his name, but it was softer and lacked his brother's thick Irish accent. The smell of the smoke faded and was replaced with something sweet but heady, saturating his skin like he'd been doused in it. He yelled for Connor again and faintly heard his brother's voice once more before he twisted awake with a shout.

"Connor!" he panted, scrambling out of the blankets, realizing that he'd flailed so much that he'd gone flying off the top bunk and had landed on the floor of the cell.

Connor was also awake, his hair askew everywhere and his eyes wide, gasping for breath, quickly twisting in the blankets on his bed and scrambling for Murphy. Their fingers twisted around each other and Connor pulled Murphy up and for a brief second they leaned against each other, sucking down deep breaths, calming themselves.

"Da hell was that?" Connor gasped as he slowly let go of his twin and wiped the sweat off of his brow despite the relative chill in the cell.

"Feck if I know." Murphy breathed, feeling his skin shiver. "Ya hear someone's voice 'sides mine?" It wasn't a question of whether they shared dreams. It didn't happen often, but they knew when it did, and this had definitely been one of them.

"Aye. Someone else callin' meh. Dunno who. Couldn't make it out." He leaned back against the wall of the cell, the cold stone sending chills through him but it felt good against his clammy skin.

Murphy nodded in agreement. "What ya think it means?" he asked. Hail Mary he wanted a cigarette bad. He always liked to have a smoke right when he got up, be it from bad dreams or not. Cigarettes and coffee, that was as good a breakfast as any.

Connor shook his head. "I don't know. But I have a feeling we're gonna find out soon enough."

Their morning routine was broken immediately after breakfast. They were headed out to the yard for rec when they both felt eyes on the back of their skulls. Their shoulders rolled uncomfortably at the feeling and they turned around at the same time. They were faced with a familiar problem, two other inmates, former Italian mobsters by the name of Romano and Mancini. The Irish brothers hadn't had anything to do with them prior to their incarceration, but apparently they'd been chucked into the Hoag after they'd shot Yakavetta in court and the police had begun to pick apart the mob after they scattered to the winds. Now they spent their days harassing the MacManus brothers, doing their best to crush the faces of the Irish boys beneath their fists. The first time the twins had been caught off guard, Murphy ending up with a badly bruised eye and Connor with a busted lip, but every other altercation after that they'd been ready and waiting. Most of the time the guards didn't intervene, just as long as blood didn't hit the floor. You could get away with murder in here as long as there was no blood split, Connor and Murphy both had become aware of that not long after being thrown in here and watched as two gangsters brawled on the yard and one managed to strangle the other with the sleeves of his jumpsuit, the guards not noticing anything thanks to the ring of inmates providing protection. Connor and Murph fully intended to make a scene if Romano and Mancini tried to brawl, just in case.

"Piss off you cock sucking wops. Not in the mood fer it today." Connor growled. He was apparently in a worse mood than usual, normally it was Murphy to start the bickering.

"You micks think you got the run of this place. You're wrong." Romano, the smaller of the two hissed. If Murphy had to bet, he'd say that skinny little rat was the more dangerous of the two, cause not only could he punch like a mean motherfucker, but he was fast too. In some ways it was like a twisted version of Romeo. Mancini was all beefy muscle, height, and a very clear weight advantage on both brothers. He stood at least six foot four, somewhere around two hundred and fifty pounds. Murphy had tackled him once when he was trying to punch Connor's lights out, and had been unceremoniously thrown over the man's shoulder, but it had given Connor enough time to drop kick him right in the balls. Don't matter how tough a son of a bitch thinks he is; that shot will always get him every time.

A ring had quickly begun to form around the simmering threat. These were not men behind the walls of stone and barbed wire. They were sharks. Even just the threat of violence drew them in, waiting for blood to spill, and when it did, they would jump in and tear the weakest link apart. The twins had witnessed it within the first month of being here. Some hot shot had picked a fight way out of his league, and when his challenger had finished ripping him a new one, the crowd had piled in and proceeded to beat the shit out of him so badly that he had to be rushed to the infirmary. Murphy couldn't remember if he could walk yet or not, but right now he had to focus.

"Aye. And you think you're da one who runs dis joint? Got news fer you. Da one wit da guns is da one who runs it, and…" Murphy ran his eyes up and down both men but focused on Mancini and narrowed in on his crotch, a blatant reminder of Connor's kick, before looking back at his brother, their silent and unspoken connection humming through them. The look in Connor's eyes was hard and sharp as a butcher's knife; Murphy had his brother's permission to pick a fight without backlash from Con. The darker MacManus glanced back at Mancini and smirked, "and judging by da looks of things, that ain't you."

With a wordless snarl of anger Mancini charged. Murphy and Connor darted out of the way cleanly and went back to back, the darker twin slinging fists towards Romano who was nipping in and out of the line of fire, but not for long. Murphy charged and grabbed the skinny little Italian by the back of the neck and slung him hard, whacking him cleanly into Mancini after Connor threw several well placed punches, clocking the man in the temple, stunning him momentarily. The two Italians went down in a heap and the Irish boys howled with amusement, to the delighted roar of the gathered crowd.

"That's last fucking time you sling us to the dirt!" Romano spat.

"Come on over and make us stop then! Fucking pussies!" Connor jeered.

The two sets of opponents closed again and this time fists flew. Connor jerked back as he took a blow straight to the shoulder by Mancini but Murphy darted in and grabbed the back of Mancini's shiny bald head and Connor rammed his knee into the man's face, crunching the bridge of his nose on his knee. Mancini snarled and used his forward momentum to tackle Connor to the ground, blood gushing down his face, but as he threw Connor to the ground and slammed his fist into the side of Connor's head. The proverbial stars spun around the lighter Irish man's eyes and Murphy lunged into help, or would have, but Romano snagged him by the back of the hair.

"Ooh, not so fun is it!" Romano jeered. "What's'a'matter, fucking faggot of a brother can't handle himself without help?"

Murphy snarled and twisted in the Italian's grip, watching with enflamed rage as Mancini continued to punch Connor to a blood pulp, all the while the Irish man struggled to escape out from under his choke hold. Strength like red hot liquid iron flooded Murphy's veins and he twisted his arm back and clawed his fingers across Romano's face, trying to gouge out his eyes. When the Italian howled with severe pain, Murphy reared his leg back and kicked Romano straight into the gut, sending him sprawling back to the dirt without the benefit of air in his lungs.

"Let 'im go!" Murphy crowed. He made to drive his elbow straight into the back of Mancini's skull when the crack of a gunshot sliced clean across the air.

Everyone scattered. The ring that had formed around the fight broke apart as quickly as it had formed, Mancini and Romano got up to their feet and tried to scurry away but a set of guards came up and slapped cuffs on their wrists. Murphy went immediately to Connor's side and patted his brother's cheek, ignoring the slick, warm flush of blood beneath his palm.

"_An bhfuil tú ceart go leor dheartháir?_" (Are you alright, brother?) Murphy asked, speaking in their native Irish as the guards continued to come closer. Connor's eyes were fluttering open, the light blue irises hazy but slowly coming clearer, much to Murphy's relief.

"_Tá mé go maith le haghaidh babhta eile_." (I'm good for another round) Connor responded, shaking off the dizziness as Murphy pulled him upright. He steadied him for a moment before turning to face the approaching guards. They knew the procedure. They got back down on their knees and put their hands on their hands while they were immediately frisked for any shanks or other home made weapons, whilst being admonished, and praised accordingly, for holding their own against the two Italians, who were known to be two of the best fighters in the Hoag at the moment. Murphy rolled his eyes as he was hauled up to his feet and cuffed behind his back. He and Connor remained silent as they were dragged away from the yard but they weren't taken back to their cell. Instead they were taken to a small, dingy holding room with a table and three chairs, both of which were bolted to the floor and their hands were placed in front.  
"What's going on? We seein' the warden or somethin'?" Murphy asked as the guards made to leave.

"Nah, you boys have an appointment with your lawyer." Was the brief reply before the door was slammed shut again. Connor leaned back in the chair as much as he could and stared at the ceiling.

"Not dis shit again. Never gonna do nothin' fer us." He muttered as he dabbed at the blood still spilling down his face from a gash on his forehead from Mancini's knuckles, pressing the cut against his bicep until the bleeding stemmed.

"Aye, if they ain't gettin' paid, they ain't doin' shit!" Murphy snarled loudly just as they door to the room opened again and in swept not their lawyer, but a face they hadn't seen before. A smartly dressed woman in her mid thirties with dirty blonde hair tied back tightly into a pony tail, a few pieces too short for it framing her face, a pair of dark square glasses framing her dusky blue eyes, sliding down her pert little nose. Her lips were drawn back slightly and tinged with a little bit of gloss and Murphy's eyes trailed down to her crisp white blouse that hugged her narrow waist and was tucked neatly into her light grey pencil skirt, no stockings, and heels not quite as high as Bloom's had been, but enough to give her legs a little bit of length. Murphy looked once at his brother out of the corner of his eye, and already he could hear his twin's voice inside his head.

_Our lawyer is a hot librarian? _

_Works for me_

_More your type though, ya like blondes_

_Don't tell me ya wouldn't have her_

_Course I would. Don't even get me started on how long its been since we 'ad any of _that_ kinda action…_

"Well I'm certain I'm in the right place, the office told me the two of you were brawlers. I'm Sierra Roselani, your attorney." She offered out one carefully manicured hand to both men who shook her hand as much as they could while still being cuffed. They caught a whiff of her sweet perfume and immediately Murphy's brain began to melt, but it also reminded him very faintly of the smell in his dream.

"What happened to the other fella, what's his name…" Connor trailed off as Sierra took the only remaining chair across from them and set her briefcase on the table.

"Mr. McCoy will no longer be handling your case, as you two made it quite clear that you were unsatisfied with him. Now I'm not officially your lawyer yet, but I come highly recommended by a mutual friend." Her dusky blue eyes narrowed and Connor and Murphy sat up to pay even more attention.

"A mutual friend?" Connor asked, arching one heavily mussed eyebrow, causing more blood to leak down his face. He impatiently wiped it away while Sierra popped the clips on her briefcase "Who might that be?"

At first she didn't respond but instead withdrew a cotton handkerchief which she passed to Connor who gratefully took it and pressed it to the gash on his forehead. Murphy turned his attention back to Sierra who met his eyes steadily.

"One Eunice Bloom, and another long time friend of yours, Paul Smecker," she answered.

The Irish twins stared at each other before riveting their gaze back onto Sierra whose pretty lips were shifted into a simpering little smirk of amusement.

"That suppose to be funny?" Murphy asked. "Smecker's dead."

"Ain't nice of you to dig through a man's grave," Connor added darkly.

Sierra chuckled softly before running her fingers through her ponytail before setting her hands back onto the table. "Smecker's not dead. He faked his own death not long after you boys ran off to Ireland after you killed Yakavetta."

The twins shared another look, affirming to each other that they didn't quite believe her but they were both willing to hear more. Sensing this look, she continued.

"Don't worry boys. Anything I say in this room is safely between us. A little thing called attorney-client privilege. I'm not permitted to discuss with anybody what goes on in this room, and you are under no obligation to ever reveal what is said between us. You can't be punished for it." She assured them. "So, now that we can speak plainly, I shall elaborate. The heat was going to come down on Smecker hard, it was only a matter of time before the feds figured out that he was the one who had assisted in killing Yakavetta and in your escape to Ireland. He wanted to ensure that he remained in a position to help you gentlemen should you ever require his assistance, and it would seem that time has come."

Murphy narrowed his eyes. "So why didn't he show himself when the priest was killed?"

Sierra leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, drawing Connor's gaze briefly before he snapped his eyes back up to her face. When she spoke, it was coolly.

"He did, in a manner of speaking. He sent Bloom to help you, and she did so, at great personal risk."

"Is she alright?" Connor asked quietly.

Sierra nodded. "She's safe, if that's what you mean. She's in hiding with Smecker, and two other gentlemen who aided you in the past, Dolly and Duffy."

Murphy's chest gave a pang when Greenly's name wasn't in that list. He pushed it away as quickly as he could right along with Connor and tilted his head at Sierra.

"So what now, do you have some master plan to get us off the hook, cause we been in dis place for eight months now, and lass, we're 'bout sick of it." Murphy responded.

Sierra sat up straighter and shuffled a few papers in her briefcase, rearranging them to her liking for a moment before she responded.

"Let it be known to you two that nobody, and I really do mean _nobody_, wanted to take this case. Nobody but me. You may have a slew of adoring fans with the public, but they're not lawyers. No lawyer in this entire city wanted to get near you two with a twenty five foot pole. Even I wasn't so hyped about it at first, but then I got a call from Smecker asking for my help, and after learning what I did from him, I agreed. Now, I'm going to be honest with you boys," she paused and met them in the eyes steadily. "No judge is going to acquit you, even if he was a full blooded Irish boy like yourself. It's not gonna happen, he'd be lynched politically if not gunned down outright by the mob. And you won't get a jury trial, not in Boston. The prosecution will make a motion to have a change in venue, and because of all the press coverage, it'll be granted. Which means the jury pool won't be of people who understand how bad the crime is here and what it is you boys were trying to do. An insanity defense won't work for you, there's no evidence to support it, and you can't claim religion, it won't hold up in a court of law."

"It's the truth." Connor said darkly and Murphy saw his fingers twitching on the table. "God told us to do somethin' about the fecking crime in the city so we did and this is how they treat us? Fecking ungrateful bastards." Murphy added with a dark, scathing tone. Connor nodded in agreement and Sierra leaned down on the table, staring at them intently.

"Listen. I know exactly why you did what you did. I don't care if God told you to do it or not, you tried to help and I don't believe you deserve to be in jail, but I don't get to make that call. But the fact of the matter is you've killed over fifty men in under ten years and killing men, even evil men, is against the law. The evidence against you boys is overwhelming." Her mouth formed a hard line and the shadows beneath her eyes deepened.

"So what are you saying? That we should plead guilty, like we did somethin' wrong?" Connor snapped.

"If you were to go to trial and plead not guilty, you boys would go to jail for the rest of your life with no parole. You're lucky Massachusetts doesn't have the death penalty, or they'd fry you faster than a nice piece of chicken at a Baptist potluck in Georgia. You plead guilty, you'll probably still get life, maybe with the possibility of parole in twenty five or thirty years. And that is a big maybe gentlemen. Big maybe."

"So what are you saying then? We're gonna rot in here for the rest of our lives?" Murphy howled, angrily smashing his fist on the table. Sierra started a bit and Connor wrapped his hand around his brother's wrist.

"_Calma síos, ní bheidh Smecker in iúl dúinn hang, tá a fhios agat go._" (Calm down, Smecker won't let us hang, you know that) Connor soothed, just like he used to do with ornery livestock they tended in Ireland. Connor's eyes sparked but he settled back down and Sierra gave a grateful look to Murphy before continuing.

"No. You boys aren't gonna rot in here. I don't speak Gaelic, but I caught Smecker's name in that last little phrase. Smecker's got a plan for you, ok? Him and Bloom, they got something cooking. They're gonna get you out." Sierra said, the volume of her voice dropping.

"How? You said we wouldn't win at trial." Murphy said heavily, squeezing his temples with his fingers as another headache began to pound through him, a signal that he was really craving a cigarette.

"I said he'd get you out. Not off." She hissed, her eyes flashing. She raised her eyebrows and Connor's went up as well.

"They're gonna help us escape?" Connor hissed.

Sierra's eyes sparked again. "There's the Irish boy who pays attention in school." She teased lightly. She removed an envelope that was marked with the address of her law office and nothing else and passed it to them. They made to open it but she shook her head.

"Don't, not here. It's from Smecker and Bloom, it probably has to do with whatever it is they're planning on how to get you out of here. The guards can't search it, its part of the attorney-client privilege, but just in case, whatever is in there, when you're done, destroy it if you can. I'd like to avoid going to prison too you know?" she asked in a slightly teasing voice.

Murphy nodded. "Aye, lass. Will you get into trouble when we get out?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Doubt it. I've covered my tracks well, and I have the advantage of just being the messenger. You boys be safe, ok? Don't be picking fights. The word on the street is that every gangster in here has the green light to whack you. That's part of why Smecker and Bloom are in a hurry to get you out. I know you can take care of yourself, but please," she glanced over their respective injuries, particularly Connor's, and sighed. "Play nice, alright? I'm sure we'll be in touch soon, and if not, take care."

"Aye, you too lass." Connor said with a nod. "Thank you." He murmured sincerely. They both shook her hand again and she got up and left the room. Both twins immediately looked at each other and the envelope and their eyes lit up like twin blue fires.

"_Táimid ag dul amach!" _(We're getting out!) Connor said gleefully. Murphy grinned just as broadly as his twin, even when the guards came in to lead them back to their cell.

"_Dia oibreacha i slite mistéireach_," (God works in mysterious ways) Murphy agreed. The guards made a little bit of small talk with them about their attractive attorney to which the Irish boys agreed with lightly, both of them more distracted by the letter and the conversation they'd just had. They were locked back in their cell and both of them immediately got down on their hands and knees and leaned against the bottom bunk and sent up lengthy prayers of gratitude, both crossing themselves and remaining quiet for a moment, letting the feeling they always had when they were in prayer sink down into them. That same burning sense of purpose and conviction scored through them and when they both opened their eyes, they both knew they were ready and willing to do whatever it is they had to do in order to make it out of this place without losing their minds.

They waited until lights out to open the letter. By now their eyes had grown adjusted to the gloom and so at the back of their bunk they were able to make out the words scratched onto the paper. They kept both ears pricked for the sound of approaching guards or any other suspicious noises, but all was quiet except for the occasional snore or restless movement of another inmate in their cell.

_Well, well, well if it isn't the Saints of South Boston caught in a bit of a sticky situation. Kinda reminds me of the days I spent chasing you from crime scene to crime scene ripping out my hair as I went. I hope this letter finds you well, but knowing the pair of you, I'm sure there's been blood on the floor between you already. For the record, I always thought you were right. Spill it all, but be careful. It's just as dangerous outside as in. You killed the king, but the merry men are getting merrier by the day. The messenger no doubt told you that you two have targets as big as the pope's hat painted on your back. Do what you micks do best and keep your mouth shut and your heads down. Me and the accompanying Guardian Angel have good news for you. According to the messenger, they want to change the city in which you're tried to keep sympathetic citizens off the jury box. You and several other inmates are slated to be transferred to a prison in the sticks out in upstate New York until they can find a courthouse willing to take your case. The messenger says the move is slated to take place on the 20th of this month. We'll have everything set up, you just have to trust that it's all part of the plan. Use that good Catholic faith of yours and you'll be fine. Try not to ring the bell, but if you must, send it through the messenger. It'll get to us. Three days gentlemen. Ain't that how long Christ was dead before crawling out of the grave? You'll have to tell me later. Say your prayers. You'll need it. __Do skoroy vstrechi. _(See you soon)

_PMS, EB._

"Three days, Murph." Connor murmured softly as he folded the letter and tucked it back into its envelope.

"You really think they're gonna get us out?" the darker twin hissed in response as they climbed back into their bunks.

"Oh ye of little faith." Connor teased lightly, tapping his foot on the bunk above him to get Murphy's attention. They both murmured their prayers softly, dearly missing their rosaries but had not been allowed to keep them after they'd been chucked into prison. Hopefully there would be a way to get them back.

They slept restlessly that night, their dreams filled with thunder, lightening, the smell of gunpowder mixed with perfume and croons of voices that roiled something in their soul so much that when they woke, they gasped for breath and shuddered as if doused by icy water. But there was only one thought in their heads.

_Two more days… _


	4. Chapter Three

**_Hello there my wonderful readers and reviewers. I know. I am gratuitously late updating this fic. A lot has been going on and I'm starting to get back on my feet again. Trust me, I haven't forgotten, and I don't intend to leave you hanging again for so long. And now, on with the show!_**

**RedneckBunny**: _"Kill Me"- Pretty Reckless. Well... now that I found ASD and watched it, I could safely read this without being confused about the MacManus backstory, haha. As with Wildflower, you have captured my attention quickly and will hold it through to the end. I absolutely love that you use other languages and take the time to actually translate it quickly so the readers aren't confused. I love the story so far and eagerly wait for my emails to alert me to the next chapter!_

Hello again my friend! Bet you didn't expect an update on this one did you? Definitely with the foreign languages I new that I needed to have the translations up front next to the text because having to scroll back and forth is so confusing. It kind of breaks up the flow a little bit, but that is the price one pays. Anyway, thanks for writing in!

* * *

"Chain…Keep Us Together… Runnin' In The Shadows…"

The night was just starting to wind up so _Voodoo Child _was full of happily tipsy people doing shots, sipping fruity chick drinks, and slurping oysters as fast as the guys behind the bar could get them across the counter. Thanks to the music all but blasting over the speakers, the volume of the conversations escalated, creating a near din around my ears as I walked in, immediately searching for Jules; just the kind of place that was perfect for me to talk to my partner in crime without a real risk of getting noticed by unsavory folks. I'd made sure I wasn't followed, but Dane had worker bees all over the city. Dom was just one of many, and probably the least unsavory.

When I came into the bar I saw Jules' head of thick blonde hair sitting in one of the back booths right away. I flitted my way through the legions of off kilter men, a few of who whistled in my direction, and their girlfriends who gave me snide looks like I couldn't possibly be worth their man's attention, completely ignoring all of them, still shuffling the cards in my hand, minus one.

"They wouldn't let me get two drinks but I'll flag someone down in a second." Jules said as I slid into the booth. True to form she snagged the attention of one of the waiters with a bat of her pretty baby blues and a million dollar smile.

"What can I get for you ladies?" he asked, smoothing back a messy thatch of dark curls, his carefully cultivated sideburns darkening his young cheeks.

"I'll have another black and tan, Will, what do you want?" she asked, glancing over at me as I shuffled the cards in my hand again.

"A glass of the Sangria would be awesome." I answered, slipping a hand through my curls and brushing them away from my face almost innocently but really it was just to hide the shaking in my fingers.

"Ok, I'm just gonna need to see your ID." He said. There was a light in his eyes that said he didn't really want to ask but that his manager would tan him a new one if he got caught serving someone underage.

"_Qui, _one second." I told him, and I dug in my back pocket and pulled out my fake ID. Jules and I had both paid top dollar to have these made, and we always bought new ones whenever we rolled into a new city. That was where I'd had my first contact with Dane. I'd sniffed out someone who could have these made for Jules and I, and I'd learned he was one of Dane's cronies. Had I known how dangerous the man was then, I probably would have cut my losses and me and Jules would have just split, but I hadn't known better.

The waiter glanced at it and I didn't let a single twitch of roll through me. Not a one. Between the dim lighting and the multitude of shiny pennies I'd paid for these, I knew they'd fly no problem. And sure enough after just a couple seconds he handed it back to me.

"I'll be right back with your drinks ladies." He said before sweeping away, taking Jules empty cup. As soon as he was gone I switched my gaze back to Jules.

"We have a problem." I murmured as I shuffled the cards in my hand.

"What, did you get caught today or something?" she asked me. In addition to working together we hustled independently if the opportunity struck, both of us were skilled at pick pocketing although I probably had the more subtle hand since I practiced not only that but also three card Monte and a variety of little tricks that I used to snatch valuables right off of people's wrists.

I shook my head. "No. Strayed into Dane's territory earlier." I said, keeping my voice low and my eyes on the cards, but I could feel her stare and so I looked up. Jules had a very commanding presence when she wanted to, but that was the thing about Jules. She was a chameleon. One minute she could be a flirty cheerleader, the next a damsel in distress, the next a ruthless con, and the next a worried friend. And each one was just as genuine as the other. It was something I'd had to get used to with her.

"Damn it Will!" she hissed. "You know better than to fuck around with that shit!"

Just then the waiter came back with our drinks. Instantly Jules' disposition smoothed and she accepted the glasses with a flirty wink and a smile. He flashed one right back and I cocked an eyebrow at her.

"You planning on grifting him?" I asked as I sipped my Sangria and swirled the dark liquid over my tongue. I preferred to make my own with a special spice blend that I used to marinate the fruit before adding it to the wine but this wasn't bad.

Jules rolled her eyes just a little and twisted her mouth into a smirk. "Maybe. He's cute, who knows what he's got stashed in the bedside drawer that might be worth taking." But as soon as she took another drink of her black and tan she became more serious.

"What were you doing down in Dane's neighborhood?" she asked and now her voice was like slate.

"I just wasn't paying attention. I didn't go there to grift or anything, I know better. When I realized where I was, I went to leave but Dom caught up with me." When she quirked her eyes with confusion I elaborated. "The black guy with the dreads. The only one that didn't crack his knuckles at us when Dane tossed us to the curb."

"Oh yeah, I remember now," she amended.

I set my drink down and shuffled the cards again. "Yeah well, Dom said that Dane wanted to talk to me. Didn't say what about but that I should go with him."

Jules eyes narrowed dramatically. "The fuck does Dane want with you?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Don't know. I sent Dom away with a message for Dane and then that was when I left and called you."

Jules nodded thoughtfully and took another drink. "Are we blowing town?" she asked.

My stomach twisted very uncomfortably and I took a long pull on my drink, letting the alcohol blaze a warm path down my throat to try and steady myself, but really all it did was make me feel sicker inside. "I don't know how the bastard did it, or fucking why he did it, but he knows about Boston, Jules. About Redfield."

Her eyes immediately went from concerned to as hard and as brittle as overworked glass. It was like you could see the little shards all over her blue irises as her fingers clenched the cup of her drink so hard I could see her trembling.

"Jules!" I hissed softly. "Not here. We can't…you can't go to pieces…not here! It'll be ok!" I whispered, seeing her continue to shake. Fucking Christ on a cross if she had a meltdown here we really would have to blow town and risk exposure thanks to Dane. I set my cards down and reached across the table and grabbed both of her hands in mine, letting my fingers squeeze and massage her wrists, feeling her still vibrating like a jackhammer.

"_Jules, regardez-moi. Ça va bien se passer, je te le promets." _(Jules, look at me, it's going to be ok, I promise) I spoke soft and gently, my fingers working over her wrists before lightly taking one hand and cupping her cheek, turning her to face me. I could see her threatening to crack into what would either be a meltdown of despair or anger. I tightened my pull on her and leaned to meet her, our foreheads touching. I held her close like this until I felt the shaking in her bones begin to ease away.

"_Je t'aime. Je vous ai promis, je ne laisserais jamais rien de mal t'arriver." _(I love you. I promised you I would never let anything bad happen to you.)

"_Je t'aime aussi." _(I love you too) she responded, her voice whispered and still shaken but much calmer.

I let her go and we both sank back down into the booth. I took another swig of my drink and Jules did the same, exhaling a long breath she probably didn't realize she'd been holding until just now. I found myself doing the same and we gazed at each other in quiet silence until she found her words again.

"So I'm assuming that if we don't talk with Dane he'll blast what he knows to the press, right?" she asked me. Her tone was cool now, flippant, almost as if she didn't care. And for all the world she looked as though she didn't, but I knew. I may have been the only one who did know, or who would ever know.

I nodded. "That was what Dom said. I sent him with a message saying that we'd meet Dane on Bourbon Street tomorrow night. Either he will or he won't show up. By now he probably knows where we live so I don't suggest we go back to the flat tonight. I don't trust Dom enough to not have dug up everything he can on us and have someone waiting for us if we go home."

She nodded. "Alright. So we run the streets tonight."

I shook my head and finished my drink. "No. We head for the cemetery, the mausoleum. Dane has his snakes out tonight, could be looking for us, could be unrelated, I don't know, and I don't care. We stay out of sight tonight, tomorrow morning we'll go back to the flat and get what we need, and then we'll go to meet Dane."

Her fingers curled around her glass again but she said nothing, merely tossed back what was left in it as I did the same, the warm blaze of alcohol not really going as far as I'd hoped to soothe me.

"When you say you weren't paying attention…what do you remember?" she asked. I shifted my gaze away from her and went back to fiddling with my cards.

"Come on Will, you need to tell me, if you can't get your journal tonight, you need to tell me so I can remember for later," she pressed.

I sighed and dug back into my memory. It was easier than it had been in years past, but even now only a few hours later, the details were starting to go soft and blurry. I shuffled the cards again, their crisp snapping sound helping to bring me back.

"I went down to the river like I usually do. I was just thinking about Paris and trying to remember the city and that trip I took with my parents when I was five or six. I guess I had just followed the river until I hit Dane's neighborhood. As soon as I saw his guys lurking around I turned back but Dom had seen me. It wasn't a haze." I said quietly. Haze was another code we had between us. Thanks to events which I barely have any recollection of as it is my memory has been shot to shit, and there had been times where I could live in a 'haze' and not remember anything that had happened. Sometimes it would come back to me in tiny bits and pieces, but more often than not, it was just that, a haze. A fog of jumbled sounds, colors and pictures stretched and twisted like taffy on a pulling machine, events and names and dates a complete and utter washout. Those spells were getting less and less, mostly because I was learning to really focus and pay attention to the world around me, but they still happened sometimes, when I was lost in thought.

"You sure that's it?" Jules asked me carefully.

"Yes, I'm sure!" I snapped.

"Watch your mouth!" Jules grated right back, her eyes flashing hard. "You know why I do this."

I sighed and bit my lip in resignation. It was good that I had Jules with me, especially for moments like these. My temper is nothing to be played around with, but all too often its far too short, or directed at the wrong person, but Jules doesn't take any shit from me. She never has, and she reminds me not so subtly if I'm turning into Mrs. Hyde.

"I know, I'm sorry." I told her. I glance around at the bar and feeling the swell of the noise and music rising, I flag down our waiter.

"Another round." I tell him. Jules flashes me a smile and nudges my foot playfully underneath the table. The intention is to get me to go out onto the floor and start pick pocketing since people are up and dancing and not paying any attention to what is going on around them. But I shake my head.

"_Désolé mon amour._" (Sorry my love) I reply. "You know we don't go to work in places we frequent."

She rolled her eyes and twitched her lips. "Alright then," she said. Right at that moment the waiter returned with our drinks. He set them down and Jules smirks his direction while I leaned back into the booth and tried to still the nervous tremors in my heart. The alcohol helps but eventually the combination of booze and the pounding of the music and the overwhelming writhing energy of the quickly overcrowding bar makes it hard for me to think. I glance over at Jules and she understands.

We pay our tab and make our way back out into the street. We are masters of dine-n-dash but again, since we frequent this place, it's not a good idea to be screwing around. That's pretty much the number one rule of being a good criminal. Don't get caught. And even though my feet are quick and I can blend in pretty much anywhere, I don't push my luck. Cause pushing the luck is exactly how people get caught. It makes me wonder how Dane gets away with everything he does. And it also makes me worried when I think about how he had been able to find out about Boston and Redfield. A nervous shiver goes up and down my spine but Jules presses lightly against me as we walk up the street and I was comforted. On our way to the cemetery, I lift a pack of cigarettes from a woman's purse and then withdraw the lighter I'd taken with me from home early this morning. I light one for myself and offer one to Jules who declines.

"Suit yourself," I said as I blew thick plumes of smoke from my nose and mouth.

"Reminds me of the dream," she responded. We walked down the cracked sidewalks and darted into deeper shadows, oak trees lining the sides of the road, their branches slung low with age and draped by Spanish moss that fluttered in the tiniest of breezes. We came to a wide patch of open ground surrounded by an iron wrought fence, but it was only a latch lock, so we slipped inside the darkened graveyard. Now some of the only light was the very faint glow of the distance streetlamps and the burning end of my cigarette, flaring with orange sparks whenever I inhaled.

I nodded carefully. I'd remembered smelling smoke, and also the taste of not wine but whiskey rasping against my tongue. The swinging of a rosary and an empty rooftop where the lightening flashed, but even more, a man's heavily accented voice, but the words and the sounds were too soft for me to know what accent or have any idea who was speaking.

"You sure we had the same dream?" I asked as we picked our way through the gravestones and gnarled roots of trees that darted the cemetery as we made our way to the mausoleum.

"I read what you wrote. It was the same dream. And to be honest, it's freaking me out a little."

I blew another stream of smoke free and led Jules to the side of the mausoleum where underneath a moss covered rock (yes, some people really are that stupid) was the key for the door. I plucked it free and then thrust it into the heavy lock. It turned and we ducked inside, pulling the door almost all the way closed. We didn't close it all the way to avoid having to make a racket if we needed to peek outside before we left. It was cold inside this stone box but nobody would ever look for us in here. I crushed my now finished cigarette beneath my shoe before flicking my lighter open again and giving our little hide away light. It was pretty cramped, filled with cobwebs, the casket and pedestal in the center and other little hidey holes for bodies tucked into the walls, a candle in a rack resting between each alcove. I lit a single one and Jules huddled with me on the dusty stone floor and we leaned back against the wall.

"Think it means anything?" I asked. I wanted my journal in my lap and another drink but the sooner we got off the streets the better off we would be and I knew this instinctively. I am a big proponent of listening to my instincts and being cautious when it comes to possibly getting caught. When you run the grift for as long as I have, you learn that there is always another opportunity for a score, but if you screw up just one time, you could find yourself running from the boys in blue, getting tazed, arrested, or depending on who you tried to con, you could be fleeing for your life from pissed of gangsters. I have had all three happen to me, and so far I've been lucky, but let me tell you, it's a non-habit forming experience.

"It must." Jules answered. "I know you don't believe in God or anything…but I'm wondering if maybe it's some kind of message. Or warning. Hell, it must mean something."

I rolled my eyes. "I doubt that Jules. God sends dreams to prophets. Not petty cons."

Jules shrugged her shoulders. Jules is not what you would call a devout Christian but before we met her parents had schooled her in the church well, and I guess even after all this time some of it had stuck with her. After everything we'd seen…I had no idea how, but it was just another part of Jules that I admired. That she had faith in something bigger than herself. It was something I'd never had, and was convinced I never would. It was just us against the world and that was it.

"Think what you want," she told me. "I think it means something."

I stretched out on the dusty floor, using my arm as a pillow while Jules did the same and we laid next to each other. I closed my eyes and though it did not come easy, sleep and I met again, and I had more of the same dreams I was used to, but after those ran there course, a different one came to greet me. It was another new one, but not the one where we'd stood on a rooftop. This was different. The air was so thick with heat I thought I would drown in it, mind numbing pleasure and pain was wracking my body as I pushed and clawed against warm, writhing flesh. Searing hot skin burned against my own and my teeth sank into my lip so hard a bloom of copper cut through the fever heady haze. The smell of crushed moss and damp earth and stone floated around me as I rolled hard, turning end over end, still ending up on my back. The pleasure spiked hard and I gasped, my back arching as strong, strong arms curled around me. I pushed and grabbed and tugged, writhing hard as my brain and body threatened to shatter like a glass figurine in a hurricane. Strangled howls echoed through my ears mixed with heavy breaths. I couldn't see what was happening but oh could I feel.

I shuddered awake, thrashing so hard that I clocked my arm against the pedestal, gasping for air. It was cold and the candle had long since burned out. I twisted around and saw that Jules was in a similar state. Her hair was askew, her clothes were rucked up, her chest heaving for breath as she looked over at met my gaze.

"The fuck was that?" she demanded as she leaned back on her hands and stared up at the ceiling of the mausoleum.

I shuddered and tugged my shirt back down which had ridden up. My fingertips brushed the skin on my belly and I found myself shaking in response, every nerve ending like a livewire, sparking and smarting as though the sensitivity dial in my brain had been cranked up all the way to high. I sucked down a deep breath and tried to force myself into calming down.

"I don't know." I murmured. "And I'm not sure I want to know."

Jules didn't answer. She curled her legs together and leaned forward, her mane of blonde hair tumbling against her shoulders as she raked her nails from her ankles to her knees, trying to get a hold on herself. I wasn't far behind her. I was up on my feet and pacing, trying to get my heart rate to slow down. Dimly blurred memories slid through my brain mixed in with details of my dream and I knocked my head from side to side, cracking my neck, wishing it would just stop.

"It's too early for this crap," I said with a yawn. Sleeping on a stone floor did not do wonders for my mood but Jules righted her clothes and followed me as I cautiously nudged the mausoleum door open. It was daylight but it was dim, as though the sun had only risen just a few minutes ago. I bent down and snagged the butt of the cigarette I'd been smoking from the night before and held it between my fingers before I motioned to Jules and she followed me as we slipped out, locked the door, and put the key back under the rock. That was the other fundamental to being a criminal. Cover your tracks as much as possible. Not that I thought anybody would ever come looking for DNA evidence of two cons in a mausoleum, but its exactly that kind of lax thinking that can get you caught.

We stole out of the cemetery, the streets quiet and the air actually a little cool and not quite so heavy with moisture yet. The ground was soaked with dew and soon enough that liquid would permeate the air, but for the moment, we were free of it. We didn't go straight back to the flat, instead we found a bakery that was open and each of us got a beignet and cup of coffee. I took mine with a cigarette, the stimulant helping to wake me up as well as the sugar and caffeine. By the time we reached our street our treats were finished and we were moving cautiously. We fanned out, taking separate sides, myself on the side where our flat was located, Jules on the opposite. My hands were in my pockets but my head was up as I approached our building slowly. There were no nearby cars, nothing was moving, everything seemed quiet.

But as I went through the gate and the little courtyard, I caught the smell of heavy cologne and my spine tingled. No one in the building that I'd come across wore cologne like that. I glanced down and saw bits of the overgrown grass and kudzu had been disturbed when someone had positioned themselves in the shadows, waiting for us to come home.

I signaled for Jules to wait as I cautiously went up the stairs. When I reached our door I pressed my ear to it and upon hearing only silence, slid in my key with baited breath. A slight twist of my wrist and I slowly pressed it open. When nothing moved I signaled to Jules and she quickly came across the street as I entered the flat.

Nothing had been touched, nothing had moved since yesterday morning. My side of the apartment was still a travesty of disorganization, Jules' side spotless, everything neatly organized and put away. But still the smell of that cologne lingered in my nose.

"Maybe they didn't come here after all." Jules said as I shut the door behind her.

"Oh no, they were here." I muttered as I immediately went to my bag and pulled out my journal. I took it to the kitchen counter and scribbled furiously of everything that had happened yesterday, including the dream from this morning. I took the time to include the details and elaborate on everything as much as I could, because I knew that if I ever needed to look back on this, every bit of information would help me remember. When I was finished I looked up at Jules who was staring at me.

"How can you tell?" she asked.

"That smell in the courtyard. Someone was waiting for us to come home through the gate to jump us." I shut my journal closed with a snap and tossed it back into my duffel bag. I started gathering my stuff up and putting it away, not bothering to spend time to fold it. Jules noted my packing and slowly came up behind me and touched my shoulder.

"Are we pulling out?" she asked softly.

I had a balled up shirt in one hand, a pair of denim shorts in the other and a couple socks tangled somewhere in the middle. I'm sure I looked like a wreck with smeared eyeliner and pale skin and my curls skewed everywhere and with the way Jules was looking at me, I was pretty sure that I looked as shitty as I felt. I sucked down a long breath before I answered.

"If Dane knows about Boston and Redfield, then we shouldn't hang around and wait for him to find a reporter looking for a break. I want to find out what he wants, hopefully he can be pacified, but if not, then yeah, we're running. And we're getting the fuck away from here. I hear summertime's nice in California."

Jules nodded, but I saw the sadness in her face. Jules never liked uprooting. For as long as we'd been running, she'd wanted to find a place to settle down and build some kind of life in. She never had the restless blood that I did, that deep-seated paranoid urge to run and keep running and never look back. She wanted to go back to the way her life had been Before she and I had met. She loved me, there was no doubt about that, but I think we both knew instinctively that so long as we were together, she'd never find what she needed, she stayed because she was pacified by taking care of me. Jules needed someone to look after, to need her, and I was perfect for that position because I knew damn well I probably wouldn't last a week without her. I knew she was upset, maybe even angry at me, for ruining what we had going here by just being careless, and at some point we'd probably fight about it, but right now she let it go, and for that I was incredibly thankful.

I struggled to get all of my clothes in my bag and she came up and took them from my hands as a nervous shudder spilled through me. I realized I was shaking so badly that when I took another step to find something else I almost tripped and fell on my face.

"_Calme-toi ma chérie, je vais m'en occuper._" (Calm yourself, sweetheart. I'll take care of this) she said to me, speaking gently, running longer fingers through my tangled air. She trailed her hand down from my hair to my wrists and pulled off my cuffs and set them aside, running her thumbs over the inked words. "_Ne pensez pas juste respire." _(Don't think, just breathe) she reminded me. I echoed the words with her but in my mind all I could hear was the echo of a voice I didn't know but that made my blood burn.

* * *

It's Friday night so Bourbon Street is predictably crowded which is exactly what I had wanted. Dane was a gangster, but he was like me. He didn't want to get caught, and also like me, he didn't push his luck (he just happened to have a lot more of it than I did) so I was reasonably sure that as long as Jules and I stayed together, and we stayed within public view, we'd be safe.

It only took about five minutes for the plan to go to hell. We were waiting on the corner, myself smoking a cigarette in-between shuffles of my cards while Jules leaned up against the building next to me. We were both dressed casually, Jules in a pair of army green cargo pants and a black tank top, her thick blonde hair halfway pulled into a pony tail which feathered since she hadn't forced the strands all the way through the band. I was in another pair of black jeans and a dark blue shirt this time, but I'd left my cuffs at home. We weren't trolling for a mark tonight, I had no reason to hide the ink on my skin. Parts of Jules tattoos were also visible thanks to her tank top but her back was to the wall at the moment.

In less than five minutes of waiting we were approached by three very burly men, all of them Dane's bruisers, and none of them with a particularly friendly look in their eye. Gold teeth flashed even in this bad lighting as people swirled through the crowd, diving in and out of bars, swinging drinks and calling loudly.

"Who the hell do you think you are to tell Dane to wait?" one of them growled.

I clicked my teeth and dropped my cigarette, crushing it beneath my shoe.  
"I came to talk to Dane, not the henchmen." I muttered. I sounded a lot braver than I really felt and Jules looked at me with incredulous eyes just before one of the men wormed behind her and forced her away from the wall. They began to herd us down the street like sheep straight to a waiting black Cadillac that was rumbling on the corner, parked illegally of course because since when do gangsters care about parking tickets?

"Then come right along, stupid girl," the henchman chuckled. He cuffed me in the shoulder blade and I hissed and tried to strike back but he slammed my shoulder straight into a wall and with brute force pinned me back.

"Dane said you were a smart one, but I think maybe he'd had a little too much when he made that comment. Play nice girl, or we'll cause a scene, and you and your pretty blonde friend will be chalk outlines on the sidewalk." The leader of the trio hissed, letting his jacket hang open and the metal of his pistol flashed.

"Ok, ok!" I panted. He let up on my shoulders and the man behind us pushed Jules forward so we walked side by side. We were herded like sheep to the Cadillac and one of the other henchmen opened the door. We were forced inside, rough, biting hands on our backs and shoulders and the door slammed shut. A soft tapping against the divider between the back seat and the front where the driver was sounded and the engine purred beneath us and we were rolling. It was as we were moving that I took in my surroundings. In the seat across from us was Dominic, seated comfortably next to Dane, nursing a glass of what looked like bourbon, the next Al Capone himself. Dane stood at about six feet tall, but in the tighter quarters of the car that was suppressed. His shoulders were broad but fit well beneath the expensive material of his charcoal grey suit. You couldn't quite see the outline of the developed muscles of his chest through his shirt but almost as he leaned forward, also holding a glass of dark amber fluid and a cigar in between his fingers. His unshaven jaw and chin had a dark coating of stubble, tracing beneath his strong, proud nose as well. His dark eyes, a shade of pale grey that gleamed like the metal jacket on a bullet with just as much ruthlessness as the gun that fires the lead slug, were staring straight at me and I instantly knew that he was not particularly amused with the game I'd played last night. My stomach twisted with nervousness and I was very grateful for Jules' presence beside me. Even in the car Dane was wearing one of those hats you always saw the traditional fifties gangsters wore, tipped slightly over his left eye, crooking it just a little. One finger traced the rim of his glass, the ice inside it chinking softly as he leaned forward, getting more comfortable in his seat. The first time we'd seen him, Jules had actually slated him for a mark, because of the expensive suit, the chunky gold watch on his wrist, and he wasn't at all hard on the eyes. Dane had a certain simmering charisma that was attractive in all the dangerous ways. But then he'd snapped his fingers and had us thrown to the pavement and we knew exactly the kind of man we were dealing with. I was about to get another taste of that man, I was pretty sure, and I wasn't looking forward to it. Dom glanced at me and Jules once and then sipped his drink, keeping his expression neutral.

"I'd like to know what the meaning of this is."

The card I'd sent back with Dominic was flicked from Dane's hand straight into my lap, his voice cool as the ice in his glass and just as blistering if exposed to it for too long. I picked up the card and turned it over, glancing at the message I'd written there.

'Nice try. Meet me in person, Bourbon Street, 9 p.m. tomorrow. _Je viens à nu la folie de deux_' (I come baring the madness of two).

"I actually had to find someone who spoke French to figure that out." Dane added as he took a small sip of his drink, curling his tongue over his lip as he sized up Jules and I. "Why do you insist on making things difficult?"

Jules took the opportunity to answer before I could do so, and it was probably for the best. Knowing me, I'd sink things deeper and deeper into what might not just be a hole, but our grave.

"She was frightened, Dane. After our last encounter, she didn't want to meet you alone. But we're in a bit of a hurry, so if you wouldn't mind telling us what it is you want?" she pressed. She leaned forward a little and let a few pieces of her blonde hair tip down to touch the top of her breasts and the movement was not lost on Dane who's grey eyes flashed like knives glinting in sunlight as he raked them over her body.

"Neither of you strike me as the type to scare easily," he murmured, swirling the drink in his glass again. "I told you not to come grifting through any of my clubs again." Now his tone was very dark and my breath hitched.

"We haven't!" I insisted. And it was true, neither of us had been anywhere near Dane's hot zone territory since he'd thrown us out. I was neither greedy nor an idiot. I knew better than to troll for marks in Dane's neighborhood.

"Calm down Will, I didn't say you had," Dane soothed, running a hand against his chest, smoothing out a slight wrinkle in his suit. Dom shifted in his seat and let his eyes drift out the black tinted windows and my gaze briefly followed his and as it did so, my stomach curled sharply. We were headed for the river, towards Dane's club.

"As it would so happen, I actually have need of you two. You see I'm arranging a business deal in Boston, and since you two are familiar with the city, you pose the perfect opportunity for me." Dane took another sip of his scotch just as the car pulled up in front of one of his smaller, more exclusive clubs, _Steel Pulse. _It wasn't so much a club as it was a lounge where the gentlemen came to drink, the women came to be shown off, and shady business deals swapped mouths over brandy and thick cigars. There was no raucous, sweaty dancing here, oh no. Here there were silk suits, bejeweled satin dresses, and shadowed faces dimly lit in rich leather booths.

"If you would follow me ladies. You're a bit under dressed but we'll take this to my private room for further discussion." Dane said as the car rolled to a stop. My stomach dropped hard and I looked at Jules. When Dane got out Dominic followed and tilted his head at us, a clear indication for us to come along. I didn't need words to know what Jules was thinking. The shit was only getting deeper. We should have bailed last night and taken our chances on the road. It was too late to get out now.

We got out of the car and hurried up onto the curb to avoid traffic and approached the club's entrance, the doorway pure mahogany with sleek gold accents and as we entered immediately I was hit by the smell of smoke. We stepped through the narrow entrance which quickly opened into a large lounge, tables carefully spaced draped in black table cloths, rich as sin elbows draped on them, hands holding drinks or smokes, gold and diamond jewelry glinting off of fingers and wrists. The lounge itself was sparsely lit by just a few shaded bulbs on the high ceiling. Near the walls were the booths, most of them occupied by gentlemen and several ladies, and all of them could have graced the covers of any beauty magazines. The stage was occupied by a band who was set up towards the back, and on the short catwalk that stretched out into the floor of the lounge was a woman in a glittering red dress that was slit all the way to her hip, the sparkles catching in the spotlight. Her mile long legs were hugged by dark stockings, and her graceful arms were also sheathed in dark lacy gloves that stretched past her elbows. She moved slowly and sensually while holding onto the microphone, her raven black waves piled loose and inviting on her ivory sculpted shoulders. Ruby red lips gleamed wetly in the spotlight and after I managed to get my eyes off of her, I became aware that I recognized the song that was playing. The singer's voice was a husky croon, her fingers sliding down the gleaming steel of the microphone stand and for a moment I was transfixed. The acoustic guitars curled through their notes and the bass vibrated strongly but the music was still more tempered than the original song. The tapping of the drums was deeper and smoother and my foot unconsciously kept time against the carpet with the slow, methodical rhythm. My body shivered when Dane came up behind me.

"You see? It can be quite nice," he husked in my ear. I stepped away as much as I thought I could get away with and turned to him.

"You said we had business to discuss," I reminded him. I could hear the shaking in my voice, despite my attempts to hide it. Jules slid up to stand at my side and some of my nervousness was quelled. I always felt stronger if she was with me, regardless of the situation.

He nodded. "Come along ladies." He motioned for us to follow and with some reluctance I took the lead, Jules behind me, and Dominic bringing up the rear, carefully but firmly herding us. Dane took us past the stage down a narrow, even darker hallway that turned into a maze of carpeted floors, closed in dark wood walls, and sparsely placed lights until finally he reached a door that required a key code to enter, as well as a swipe of a little card that Dane quickly tucked back into his pocket as the lock clicked and the door nudged open.

We found ourselves in a very lush private room, almost like a miniature club in and of itself. There was a small bar in the back against the far wall, an inviting spread of couches and chairs that were loosely circled around a glass table beneath a speckled marble floors and on the wall a large plasma flat screen TV was mounted. This room was also dimly lit by lights placed into little cups inside the walls, but a wash of golden light illuminated the bar which Dane quickly approached as Dom closed the door behind us.

"Would you ladies like something?" he asked as he worked on fixing himself another drink. I cut my eyes at Jules to decline but she went right ahead and afterwards I realized that it was a good thing. Jules had a much keener eye for playing the game and walking a fine line of careful subtlety that I would never have. That's why she was always the one to lure the marks in. I don't have the patience for bullshit. This is also why we didn't run long cons. I can't act for shit.

"I'll have a black and tan." She said, lightly stepping away from me and approaching the bar. Her golden skin glowed softly beneath the lights as she stepped up to the counter and I stiffly followed, Dom flanking me loosely.

"Will, for you?" Dane asked, having removed his hat so his sleek dark hair gleamed beneath the bar's lights. I dimly wondered how much product he had to use to get it to lay flat like that in the New Orleans humidity but shook myself back to the moment when he slid his jacket off and I saw the holster for a very sizeable handgun strapped to his shoulders.

"Rum and Coke wouldn't be bad," I told him as he passed Jules her drink. He nodded and quickly fixed me a two and a half fingered rum and Coke and I sipped it lightly, enjoying the warm burn cut with the fizziness of the soda.

"Now that we're comfortable, let me elaborate to you what it is I called you in for. I mentioned before that I have a business meeting up in Boston, but I have affairs that are keeping me tied down here. So I need you two to deliver a package for me, and collect the money I'm owed, and of course return here with all of it." His eyes flashed beneath the lights of the bar and my heart thrummed hard in my chest.

"Why us?" Jules asked softly. "There must be someone else in this city who knows Boston. We haven't been there in ten years," she murmured.

Dane shrugged. "Why not you two? Let's be frank, ladies. My business transactions are often frowned upon by the boys in blue, and they are starting to sniff out my other runners. I need someone new, someone they won't suspect, and the fact that you two know Boston is just an added bonus." His lips curled and his fingers tightened on his glass. "So how about it ladies?"

I took another drink, larger than I meant to, and the burn seared down my throat, but I could hardly be bothered enough to care. I set it on the black marble of the bar and stared at Dane in the eye.

"It's not like we have a choice, do we?" I muttered. Jules shot me a dangerous look but I just kept staring right at Dane.

He snickered softly, his lips curling into an evil smile. "No, not really. You see I have many friends who are excellent at finding out all the skeletons in the closet, and you two have quite a few of them. The Boston police department has not forgotten the death of one Terrance Santiago, nor the subsequent investigation which dismembered Redfield."

My blood burned at the mention of Santiago. Awful memories roared up to greet me and I felt the tingle of electricity rushing through me that I always had right before I launched myself at someone and tried to rip a piece of their face off with my bare hands. I sucked down a deep breath and took another drink, hoping that Dane would see me shaking. He did, because his eyes flashed with ruthless amusement and I almost picked up my cup and flung it at him.

"What do you want done, Dane?" I snarled.

"I suggest you lower your tone when you talk to me. As I'm about to be your new employer, I demand a little respect," Dane snapped. He came around from behind the bar and stalked towards me. I held my ground, my heart slamming in my chest, blood racing like a freight train plunging off a cliff. Sweat bloomed on my palms and the back of my neck as all my muscles began to tense. I opened my mouth to curse the man in front of me but Jules snaked in between us carefully, putting a hand on my chest to push me away before slinking and turning to face Dane.

"Don't mind her. She's just a little testy is all. We'll be happy to work with you, Dane, in exchange for your discretion." She smiled up at him sweetly and batted her eyes, all the while I was standing behind her, fuming so hotly I was all but ready to launch myself clean through Jules and tear Dane to shreds, gun and all. I knew perfectly well why Jules was throwing me under the bus. That didn't mean I had to like it.

Dane smoothed himself over and smiled down at Jules in return. He reached forward and tucked a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear and let his fingertips curl down her jaw and neck to her shoulder.

"You really are quite lovely, Jules King, you should really think about coming to work for me in one of my clubs. You'd be paid most handsomely, and you'd have all the protection of the law you could ever want." He was all but biting his lip as Jules let out a hum of consideration.

"Maybe one day. Now, I believe that there was a job you had mentioned you wanted Will and I to do?"

"Ah, yes. The job." Dane pulled back from her and turned to Dom who he gave a single nod to. Dom retreated to the wall where the TV was located, and just underneath it pressed his hand to a specific spot and pushed down. The wood gave way and a panel slid back to reveal a keypad. He pushed in the code and a soft blue light lit up behind the keypad. A large piece of the floor near Dom's feet pulled back under the wall and revealed a floor safe. He spun the combination lock deftly and reached down into the dark oblivion and pulled up two large duffle bags. He replaced the combination for the floor safe and as it disappeared back beneath the floor he carried the bags to the bar. I approached slowly and as Dane unzipped them he revealed a massive pile of guns and boxes of bullets. And these weren't just any guns. These were big guns. I don't pretend to know anything about them, but I knew with just a glance these things could do some serious damage.

"I need you two ladies to run these guns up to Boston and deliver one each to two contacts of mine who are waiting to receive them. They'll have the cash on hand. You two will make the exchange at a specific time and place, and once the money is in your hands, you come straight back to New Orleans and deliver it to Dom or another of my associates who will contact you."

"When do we leave?" Jules asked. I let her talk, I was in no position to say anything because I knew anything that came out of my mouth was probably going to get us shot. You cannot even begin to understand the level of my fury and frustration at what was happening. Here I was, for a stupid fucking mistake, being forced to go back to a place that I promised I'd never return to. Ever. For a good fucking reason. Why couldn't those God damn skeletons die? They were all but spilling out of the closet and salsa dancing, chattering their bony teeth with raucous laughter in my ear. Fuck it all.

"As soon as you ladies are ready. You'll be taking your car. Dom will give you a lift back to your flat so you can pack up. The first meeting is with a Russian underboss Dmitri Lebedev on the fifteenth of May. You have another meeting with an Italian underboss, one Adolfo Moretti, on the eighteenth. Now I already have a room waiting for you two to check into tomorrow in Boston, Dom will give you the address. And don't worry, there's already a credit card on file so they won't ask for yours. I wouldn't trust you with a paper trail as far as I could throw you." He smiled in a cheeky way and my skin crawled.

Jules however nodded politely. "I'm assuming we'll get the rest of the information of where to meet and when at some point?" she asked lightly as Dane's cell began to ring. He checked the idea and answered the call but put whoever it was on hold and turned back to her.

"Yeah, you'll get all of that, Dom has everything written down. Now be off ladies, daddy's got work to do." He literally waved us away like we were pesky birds. I snagged my drink off the bar and tossed the rest back and flipped Dane off behind his back as he answered the phone. Jules snagged my wrist and tugged me in close while Dom zipped up two black bags and picked them up off the bar. Jules led the way out and I followed close behind.

Another car was waiting for us outside, a sleek dark blue SUV. As we piled in Dom gave the driver directions to our flat (way to many freaky things to think about loaded into that statement, not the least of which was 'how the fuck did they find out where we lived') and turned Jules.

"All the information you need is here." Dom said, passing her a thin little leather notepad. She flipped it open and glanced at the neat quick cursive notes, nodded, and tucked it into her pocket.

"You know I'm almost sorry that you two got involved in all of this. It wasn't really your fault," he continued quietly.

"Only almost, Dom?" I asked snidely. Jules flicked me in the ankle but I couldn't be bothered to feel bad. My heart was pounding behind my ribs with a mixture of anger and fear, which in my book was a very potent, unhealthy combination.

"Well if you two play your cards right, this should go over well and who knows you could find yourself with a very lucrative business opportunity. But be rest assured, Dane always gets what he wants." His eyes lingered on Jules and my teeth actually bared.

"He can go fuck himself. We're doing this job and that is fucking it. If he wants to blast us all over the news, he can go right ahead, we can take care of ourselves."

Dom shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourself ladies." We rolled up outside of our flat and piled out, each of us taking one bag of guns, which was a helluva lot heavier than it looked. Dom whistled to us to get our attention before we went through the gate towards our building.

"Be careful up in Boston. The mobs are getting testy. Keep your head down and your mouth shut and everything should be fine. And for the love of Christ on the cross and all his disciples, as soon as you have the money, get back here. If there's one thing Dane likes more than pretty girls, its briefcases full of cash."

I rolled my eyes. It was insolent and maybe stupid of me but at this point I couldn't be bothered to care. "Yeah, Dom. I know." I shut the door on him and spun on my heel. Jules followed me silently up to our apartment. When we got inside we both set our bags down and I slammed the door shut behind Jules so hard that it rattled in its frame.

"I cannot fucking believe this shit!" I howled. I slammed my fist into the wall causing a spout of sharp pain to rattle through my knuckles and wrist, and to my credit, the wall dented beneath my blow.

"Hey, hey, calm down!" Jules yelled, snagging my wrist and preventing me from hitting anything else. I shook something awful in her grip and yanked away from her.

"What the fuck was all of that! Giving Dane bedroom eyes and shit, are you fucking out of your mind?" I spat.

"Hey! Don't you start getting all pissed off at me, if it hadn't been for you we wouldn't be in this situation!" she growled. "Let's just do what we have to do, alright?"

I kicked the wall so hard that a piece of the drywall cracked. "After this we're not staying here. We're getting out and fucking going away. Somewhere else. Don't give a shit where, we'll figure that out later." I huffed. We had pretty much finished packing earlier in the day but I dug my journal out of my bag and began to scribble away in it as fast as I could go. In some places my hand was shaking so much that the pages tore or the writing was so illegible that there's no way I'd be able to read it later. Jules came up to me and took me by the hand again and stroked her thumb over my tattoos.

"_Ne pensez pas juste respire." _(Don't think just breathe) she murmured softly.

I set my pen down and leaned up against the counter while I took down deep, shuddering breaths. My head was actually beginning to hurt from the deep emotional swings I'd been taking all night and now all I felt was tired. Tired but filled with anticipation and nervousness. It was the same kind of feeling I always had whenever Jules and I were about to hit the road again, and in a freaky way, it was comforting. I guess because it was familiar to me.

"You ok?" Jules asked when the shaking finally stopped.

I nodded my head. "Yeah, I'm alright. Find the mix tapes would you? We have a long fucking drive ahead of us."

She nodded and stepped a pace or two away, but still watching me with careful eyes. She continued to do so long after we'd piled into the car, her in the driver's seat, guns in the back, most of our belongings in the trunk. Jules popped in one of our mix tapes just as she hit I59, and we merged into the night, streaking along the concrete snake. I hummed with the song, knowing it well, wishing like hell this would be the one time my faulty memory would help me out. Jules voice was warm and soft as she sang those words I knew so well.

"Hold me closer tiny dancer, count the headlights on the highway. Lay me down in sheets of linen, you had a busy day today…"

Of course this was the one time where my memory worked flawlessly. I busied myself with trying to sing the same words in French as a distraction, harmonizing with Jules as the highlights racked up into the hundreds as they flashed past us on the interstate, each like little bolts of lightening behind my closed eyelids.


	5. Chapter Four

_**Ok guys. I know. I'm a horrible author for taking so long. I know I said this last chapter too. I really really am awful, and I am really sorry. I just wanted to let you know that I have NOT forgotten about this story, and I am working on it, and I hopefully will have faster updates for you in the future. Thanks to all of you who have stuck around, I love you!**_

**pure nonsense**: _This is incredibly well written. It's beautiful. As for the story, I love it so far. I'm really looking forward to see how everything comes together. Keep it up!_

Thank you much! I will definitely do my best to keep updating (and in a far more timely manner), thank you for writing in!

**RedneckBunny**: _LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE IT. Really, do I need to say more? lol._

Hah, no, not really, although if you do, I am certainly not opposed. Thanks for such loyalty, it means a lot to me!

**pony832987**: _I love this! I can't get enough! Please, please tell me Murphy and Will end up together! They would be perfect. She needs someone to take care of her and he needs someone to love him. Oh and before I forget, I can almost quote both boondock saints movies and how you describe the boys and their personality is spot on! Keep it up!_

Merci! Mm, will the darker, feisty MacManus twin end up with Will? You'll just have to stay tuned, but I'm incredibly flattered by your insight into her already. She definitely does need someone to take care of her, and Murphy really does need someone to love him. Thank you most highly for saying that I'm keeping the boys in character, I'm really trying my hardest in that respect! I too can almost quote BDS1 and 2 word for word, and whenever I undertake fanfiction having the characters stay in character is something I really try to maintain. Thank you again for writing in!

**LightintheDark23**: _As usual, your characterisation is flawless. I already care about Will and Jules, and I can't wait for them to meet the boys! It's really refreshing to read something picking up from the end of the second film. New Orleans is a great choice for the setting. Your descriptions actually remind me a lot of Savannah, GA; it's old and beautiful, but a little creepy at the same time. I know people have commented on this already, but THANK YOU for including the translations in parentheses, it really does make for a smoother read. I loved Wildflower so it's great to read something from you in another universe I enjoy, you've captured the MacManus brothers perfectly. Can't wait to read the next chapter, thanks for what you've written so far!_

Well thank you much! I love it when my readers care for and feel things about my OCs. I try to make them unique but also as real as possible. I really battled over whether try a story within the timeline of the two movies, or afterwards as a sort of sequel to BDS2, and I'm glad I went with the latter. I feel like at the end of the second movie the boys' characters were more well developed, made my job a smidge easier. You know, you're probably getting that vibe about the city from the fact that I have been to Savannah, but not New Orleans. I'm doing my best with the research though, and to be honest, a lot of Southern cities have that still, creepy, haunted feel to them (at least I think so anyway.) And you are most welcome my friend, I try to write what I would want to read, and I've read quite a lot of BDS fanfics, and the one thing that always irked me was having to struggle with the foreign languages, so I was damned determined to fix that when I wrote mine. Awwwww, you've read Wildflower too? Double thank you! Thank you again for your compliments in saying that I captured the boys personality, its something I take very seriously when I do fanfiction, so to hear that its paying off is wonderful, thank you much. I hope you stick with me, thank you again for writing in!

* * *

"This Ain't A Scene, It's a God Damn Arm's Race..."

_May 20th_

It was a hot day in Boston and of course the bus had no air conditioning. The smell of sweat and testosterone filled the air along with cheap upholstery and grit as one by one the prisoners piled handcuffed onto the ancient bus, the engine of which groaned heavily as the driver cranked the key in the ignition. Connor fixed Murphy with a steely stare and then flicked his eyes to the seat ahead of them. Romano and Mancini sat ahead of them and feeling the eyes of the Irish boys on the back of their skulls they turned and fixed them with ruthless glares. They stared right back and all four men knew that if there was a split second chance they'd brawl again.

When the bus started moving the guard sitting up front with the rifle barked for everyone to sit straight and keep their eyes forward. Mancini and Romano turned back around but Murphy glanced at Connor.

"_Smaoinigh ba chóir dúinn iad a sheoladh ar a mbealach nuair a bhíonn muid scaoilte?_" (Think we should send them on their way when we're loose?) the darker twin asked as the bus pulled out of the prison yard and through the brick and barbed wire wall. Murphy could have howled for joy at leaving that shit hole in the dust but as it was, he kept his mouth shut, but Connor could still see his excitement in his eyes.

"_Má thagann an deis deartháir daor._" (If the opportunity arises, dear brother) he murmured softly. He noticed the guard fixing him with a vicious stare and he fell quiet. They knew perfectly well that the guards, even the somewhat friendly ones, hated it when they spoke in various languages besides English to keep from being spied on. Gaelic was normally the preferred, since so few spoke it. There were too many Russians and Italians and Germans thrown into the prison for those to be safe, and French was hit or miss. Besides, it was good to speak their mother tongue; it helped remind them of the home, and of better times.

The ride was insufferably hot as there was no AC in the bus and the guards refused to allow the inmates to roll the windows down. With each passing mile Murphy had to wonder exactly what it was that Smecker and Bloom had up their sleeves to bust them out, which he and Connor both assumed would take place during the transfer between prisons, since that was the time when security was at its lowest. They left the city behind ever so slowly working their way through Boston's tangled streets and congested traffic, eventually pulling onto a highway and speeding along, the sunlight boring down on them like hell's fury, causing the temperature of the bus to rise higher and higher. There was a small reprieve when the highway turned wooded and so the trees lent their blessed shade over the bus as the ancient vehicle rumbled along. The nervous snakes in both Murphy and Connor's stomachs were becoming more and more restless. They'd been on the road for at least an hour now, maybe more, and there was no hide nor hair of the escape they'd been promised.

_Oh ye of little faith _a voice echoed in Connor's mind. He couldn't have said who's it was really. Could have been Murphy's, could have been Da's, could have been his ma's, hell, could have even been God for all he knew. He forced the shiver in his hands to stop and glanced at Murphy who was leaning his head back against the seat with his eyes closed. Connor could tell though just from the hitch in his chest and neck he wasn't sleeping, and if anything was getting more twitchy than Connor.

They passed a small break in the trees which revealed itself to be a lonely house on this stretch of desolate highway. Connor thought nothing of it, except that it was odd for someone to build out in such a remote area with nothing else around, and had just settled into reciting a Hail Mary to occupy his mind when...

**BANG!**

Murphy jerked upright, his eyes wide open as he began to scramble for his balance. The bus's back half was fish-tailing violently as the entire vehicle began to tip to the side, the explosion sending the whole contraption reeling and eventually tipping onto its side, skidding wildly, metal screeching against asphalt, the sound of glass shattering and hoarse surprised voices yelled out. Murphy reached out for Connor, his cuffed hands uncoordinated as he tried to clear his eyes of the dust and debris that were floating through the air as people began to groan and try to pick themselves off the floor.

"Nobody move!" The guard tried to sound assertive despite being rattled as he tried to get his footing but slipped and banged the shit out of his knee and head on the steering wheel where the driver of the bus was already unconscious. Murphy looked at Connor and was about to make a move but then the back door of the bus was forcefully wrenched open and a sharp whistle sounded through the air.

"Got a rain-check for two Irish boys that South Boston thinks are Saints!"

Murphy yanked his head up from where he and Connor had tipped over in their seats and saw of all people a girl standing on the debris of one of the seats, a Converse bound foot atop the chest of an unconscious man, looking through the slowly getting-to-grips prisoners.

"This was there idea of an escape plan?" Murphy hissed as he and Connor struggled to get to their feet but their legs were somewhat tangled and trapped between the floor and the seat and with their hands bound it was proving to be more difficult than they thought.

"Oh come on, brother, there is a certain romantic sentiment to this, its just like Smecker." Connor rolled his eyes and Murphy tipped his head in agreement before they scrambled to their feet.

"Aye lass! Over here, give a fella a hand!" Connor yowled from where he was still somewhat pinned against Murphy and the seat of the bus.

The girl leapt and scrambled and picked her way over the mostly unconscious group of prisoners, and in her hand was a set of cuff keys. She reached down and freed Murphy first and then Connor and both boys immediately fought to be the first to extricate themselves, resulting in them spilling into a pile of limbs at the woman's feet.

"And just where the fuck do you think you two are going?"

Murphy scrambled back and saw himself staring down Mancini who had also recovered, along with Romano, and they too extricated themselves from their seats and to make the fiasco all that much more fun, they had snatched the unconscious guard's rifle and had it trained straight at Murphy's chest.

"Stupid boys," a new voice said and Connor whipped his gaze to a flash of motion out of the corner of his eye near the front door of the bus. He watched, completely stunned into silent amazement as another woman, this time a long haired blonde marched her way through the overturned steps of the bus, reared her high heeled booted foot back and kicked Romano right in the nuts sending him straight into a pile of moaning limbs. She was also armed with a large glinting handgun and aimed it straight at Mancini, firing once and hit him in the thigh and dropped him with a pained shriek while the first woman who'd appeared yanked Murphy by the wrist and pulled him back.

"Come on, we gotta go!" she yelped as more shots fired off.

"Connor!" Murphy yelled who was still transfixed by the appearance of the second woman, but his stupor was shattered when Mancini recovered from the hit and fired his rifle as well, causing the blonde to duck and scramble back outside of the bus.

All hell broke loose as the first woman pulled Murphy by the wrist out the back of the bus and pelted back up the street, Connor not far behind. Everyone ducked and yelped when a hail of gunfire from Mancini came through the air, peppering the street around them with shots. The two boys followed the women back around the curve into the drive way of the house they'd passed and that was when they saw a little beater of a car stashed around the side.

"Get in you idiots!" the brunette yelled as she jumped for the driver's seat.

"Hail Mary!" Murphy yelped as another rifle shot pinged off the fender of the car as Mancini began to emerge from around the edge. They dove into the back seat of the car as the blonde climbed into the passenger seat, the door still open while the brunette gunned the engine, the tires screaming and shrieking as they finally bit asphalt and shot onto the highway. The blonde twisted hard and through the open door of the car emptied the clip at Mancini who was still firing at them from the middle of the road but neither of their shots connected. The blonde slammed the door shut as the brunette punched the accelerator hard, jumping the speed up to almost a hundred miles an hour.

"Holy shit! Did that really just fucking happen?" Murphy's voice was a high pitched mess of sounds as he struggled to quell the shaking in his hands and adrenaline slamming through his system.

"Aye, I think it did," Connor panted, shooting a look to Murphy, and then to the girls upfront. "Is everybody alright?"

"We're good up here. Regards from Smecker and Bloom." The blonde twisted in her seat and smirked at both boys and Connor felt like the gates of heaven had opened and milk and honey was pouring over his skin. Never had he seen a lovelier face with such a daring, wicked expression. His insides melted into goo right then as eyes as blue as the Irish Sea in full sun met his own, rich full lips lifting into a smirk and sending little bolts of delicious pleasure up and down his spine. He barely noticed when the woman reached back and dropped the gun into his lap.

"_Deartháir tú ag stánadh," _(Brother, you're staring) Murphy hissed in his ear, elbowing him hard in the spleen until Connor shook his head and looked down at the gun resting across his thighs. He recognized it immediately. It was the same gun that he'd used in the battle with the Roman eight months ago. He tried to shake away the implications of all that had happened in that fight but it was hard when his hands squeezed over the grip and stroked the barrel even as the car shuddered with the abuse driver was putting it through by holding the pedal to the floor.

"There's more where those came from. Along with a change of clothes and something else for the two of you," the driver of the car told them as the blonde turned back around in her seat and faced the front. The girl driving met Murphy's blue gaze with a hazel one through the rear view mirror, her smoky gold eyes rimmed heavily with black eyeliner.

"Any chance the two of you have names?" Murphy asked, finally managing to get his breathing under control.

"Willow, call me Will," the brunette said as she finally killed the speed on the car down to a rate of fifty five.

"And you, lass?" Connor asked as he eyed the blonde again, his mouth still dry from the look she'd given him.

"Jules," she responded, twisting back in her seat to look at him.

_Hail Mary, full of grace _Connor whimpered in his mind. She was an angel and a devil wrapped in the same body, and she seemed to already know the affect she had on him, if the mischievous spark in her eye was any way to judge.

They came back out of the wooded area but they didn't head for Boston. Instead they took the interstate a ways until they pulled off at a random exit and continued driving for a long spell through a small town until they pulled into a church parking lot where Will finally killed the engine.

"Come on, coast is clear, let's get inside before someone sees," she urged. She yanked the keys out of the ignition and climbed out of the car and Murphy was right behind her, Connor on the other side, quickly following Jules. Murphy didn't miss the way his brother was watching the way Jules walked in her snug dark blue jeans, particularly when she quickly climbed the set of stairs that led to the front door of the church.

"You sure nobody's here?" Murphy asked as Will's hand fell on the handle of the door.

"Sure as I need to be, Irish," she said, and as she spoke, he could hear the soft lilt of an accent in her voice that he hadn't caught in the getaway. He was about to comment on it but she flicked her wrist and opened the door and let them in.

As soon as they were inside she snapped the door shut and flicked the small lock to keep it shut. Connor arched his eyebrows but Will just waved her finger in a circular motion, indicating he should turn around. Jules was smirking too, her bright blue eyes glittering like aquamarine diamonds. Connor and Murphy both spun on their heels and tried their best not to let their jaws drop. There in front of them stood Smecker and Bloom.

"Welcome back, boys," Bloom said, her southern drawl dripping over every syllable as she cocked her hip to one side.

"It's nice to see you two again," Smecker agreed, his face pulling into an expression of amusement. "Although, and I think you ladies will agree with me, orange is not a good color for you."

Murph rolled his eyes. "Ain't that the Lord's feckin' truth."

"Well fortunately for you, we can remedy that situation." Bloom reached down into one of the pews and tossed both boys a set of jeans and T-shirts. Murphy and Connor both about to howl for joy when they saw Bloom's eyes narrow, but she wasn't looking at them, rather past their shoulders near the door.

"In a church? Really?" Smecker asked.

The Irish twins turned and immediately both their throats began to burn. Will had a cigarette between her lips and a lighter in her hand and was now pointedly staring at being stared at.

"Hey, just cause you guys subscribe to the delusion of the masses doesn't mean I have to. This is just another building." Her words were delivered coolly, but there was a flash of something in her gold eyes that made Murphy's blood grow hot. Like she was daring them to challenge her. And he'd never been one to turn down a dare.

"Maybe ya haven't noticed, lass, but yer outnumbered." He couldn't deny though the way his entire being began to focus on the cigarette and how badly he wanted one too and how long it had been since he'd tasted the rough tang of tobacco and smoke.

She narrowed her eyes at Murphy and he felt his guts tightening but for what reason he wasn't sure. Maybe because there was a gold flame in her eyes and he could literally almost feel the heat from her stare. "Ask Jules if that's ever stopped me."

"Will, enough. A couple more minutes won't kill you," Jules muttered with an eye roll as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Will clicked her teeth together in annoyance but she pulled the pack of smokes from her pocket and tucked the cigarette back inside. She put the pack away and Murphy let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, but was surprised when Will returned with a deck of cards in her hand that she began to idly shuffle.

"Bathrooms are right down that way gentlemen if you want to change. By then Dolly and Duffy should be ready to check in and tell us if its safe to take you back into Boston. Not that a police blockade has ever stopped the two of you before." Bloom winked at the two of them as she nodded towards the hall that was diverging off away from the chapel as the two brothers continued to quietly marvel at the situation that had befallen them.

"Oh, and there's something else for you two."

It was Smecker who said this but as he did so, he trailed off in a quiet sense of surprise, as if maybe he'd spoken too soon. The brothers turned to him with raised eyebrows.

"Aye?" Murphy was curious, because not only was Smecker looking slightly mystified, his hands rifling through his pockets and over the back of one of the pews, but Will had a grin on her face. Connor shot Jules a look whose blue eyes sparkled but she said nothing.

"Oh Smecker, you might wanna talk with your little street thief." Bloom's drawl was thick and her tone not amused as Will fought to stave off laughter.

Smecker rounded on Will. "Hand 'em over. Jesus Christ you're as bad as those two."

Both Connor and Murphy looked perplexed, until the darker of the twins noticed that Will was no longer shuffling cards and had one hand behind her back. When she pulled it out, she revealed two crosses swinging from her fist, the rest of the rosary wrapped around her wrist and hand.

"I had to, Smecker. You were so busy staring, what was I supposed to do?" Will snickered with a slightly evil laugh and then turned to the brothers. "For you." She approached and unwound the beads from her hands and placed them in the palms of the brothers who stared somewhat blankly and then looked back at Smecker and Bloom, who could only look back with exasperation directed pointedly at the two women.

"We have a lot to talk about gentlemen."

"Ain't that the feckin' truth," Connor muttered as he walked with Murphy to the bathrooms to change.

It felt like the best shower in the world to strip out of their prison jumpsuits and back into regular clothes. When their rosaries fell back into place around their necks it was like settling back into their skin. Both of them paused and regarded each other carefully, taking stock of everything they were and everything they had gone through and everything they had sacrificed along the way. Due to their bond it only took a few seconds for the enormity of what they had been through to pass between them. It was always humming in the space between them and it was plain as day in their eyes in these few quiet moments.

"Whatever happens now, we do this right." Connor's voice was solemn and heavy.

"Aye." Murphy didn't need to mention all of the ones they had lost in the almost nine years since this mission from God had started. The weight of the blood spilled on their hands was heavy on both their backs. They spent several moments in quiet, settling back into their skin and letting that heavy but inexcusable feeling of responsibility settle onto their shoulders. Without words they both understood that there was no way they could do what they did unless they had each other to help bare the weight. Alone they would buckle, but together their backs were strong enough to carry the heavy, heavy cross, as they had imprinted on each other with the ink on their backs.

They re-emerged to find their rescuers waiting for them. Will was once again shuffling cards but as soon as she laid eyes on Murphy she slowed the pace of her hands and let her eyes dart from his gaze to her hands. She slid in to stand closer to Jules as the two Irish boys approached their guardian angels.

"You ready to go back to work gentlemen?" Smecker asked as he eyeballed both of them, more seriousness in his eyes than his tone accounted for.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Connor rumbled.

"Oh aye. Eight months rotting in the Hoag will make a fella mighty eager to sink his teeth into fresh meat," Murphy agreed.

"Good. Cause you got plenty work piled up since you been gone," Bloom added. "And a whole pile of shit added on top within the past forty eight hours that these ladies can help explain."

The two Irish boys rounded on the women. "Oh is that so?" Murphy asked, eyeing Will especially. She shot him his look right back but if he wasn't mistaken he saw the slightest quiver in her jaw that said he made her nervous. He was curious as to the reason but didn't expect to find out.

"Not here, alright? Can we at least get them into the city first?" It was Jules who asked. Connor didn't miss the almost pleading tone in her voice. Now his curiosity was peaked too.

"Whatcha gotta tell us girls?" Connor questioned, tipping his head to the side.

Will's eyes hardened. "Not. Here." Her voice had dropped to a raspy husk. A warning.

Murphy smirked. "Aye then. I could do with a shot and a smoke too before we start passing stories around."

Smecker snickered a little but Bloom was less amused. "And what a story you're in for boys."

* * *

_May 18th_

"One down, one to go."

I nodded, mostly to myself, despite the fact that I'd heard Jules speak. I was too busy trying to keep my hands from shaking while I double-checked the guns and the ammunition we were set to deliver to one Adolfo Moretti, an Italian underboss. We'd made the hand off last night to Dmitri Lebedev, a Russian gangster of roughly the same rank as the man we were meeting tonight. Not that I knew that much about gangs, but I knew enough to know that they didn't send a boss for a delivery run, and that they wouldn't trust a lackey either. The handoff last night had gone about as well as it could have. We'd met in the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse down by the docks, the smell of trash and debris and filthy water clogging the air while goons in sleek suits and ties, all sporting impressive firearms of their own beneath their blazers, came and took the bag of guns from us and replaced it with a brief case full of cash. I hadn't bothered to count it, and I'd let Jules do most of the very brief talking that was needed to make the exchange. Mostly to the affect that Dane would be in touch as soon as he got the money in hand.

"Hopefully this is the last time we have to deal with Dane." Jules commented quietly as she tugged the zipper up on the duffle bag that held our illegal package.

I stared over at the briefcase on the second bed of our small hotel room. "What's to stop us from taking the money and just running? There's enough cash there to have us disappear for the rest of our lives, Jules."

She whipped her head up and looked at me long and hard. "No, Will. We do this right. Then we disappear."

I bared my teeth. "How do you know Dane won't just kill us when we get back? Or blast us all over the news anyway? What makes you think you can trust him as far as you can throw him?"

"I don't!" she snapped. "But we have no way of knowing how long of an arm he really has. If he's doing business up here, I'm sure he's got contacts. If we took the money and ran, we'd wouldn't make it out of the city before we'd be shot to shit, so just don't go there!"

I was cowed by her sudden burst of anger. "Jeeze, sorry," I muttered, running my fingers through my messy waves.

"Well it's your fucking fault we're stuck doing this as it is! So don't go making it worse." She huffed an exasperated breath and flopped back down onto her bed and stared at the ceiling.

I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was only nine pm, we had a good three hours before we were supposed to meet with Lebedev. I went over to my bed and picked up the remote that I had tossed there and switched on the TV. The local news came up, and on the screen were flashes of a breaking story. Gruesome pictures of a murder scene, at least eight bodies all covered with sheets, shattered glass, cops everywhere, horrified onlookers and media all clambering for a closer look.

_"Tonight's top story, the shootout of a local Boston restaurant. Eight people were killed and over a dozen others wounded in a brazen act of terrifying violence. As of now the police have no word about who is responsible for this horrific crime. The authorities are urging people to come forward if they have any information about who might have been responsible. Among the slain are five men, one woman, and two children whose identities have not been released." _

My stomach turned over hard as I turned down the sound and watched the reel of bloody images flicker across the television screen. Jules had rolled over and was watching as well and I saw the terrible sadness in her eyes. She had always had a soft spot for kids, and as the camera focused in on a group of huddled people near the yellow tape that was blocking people's access to the crime scene, I saw her hands clench into fists and her eyes squeeze shut for a moment.

I switched the channel. "I'm glad we don't live here anymore," I said softly.

I heard Jules let out a shaky breath. She didn't respond, but when I looked over at her, the blue in her eyes seemed darker, like a storm about to break in high summer. "It's everywhere," she said quietly. There was heat and spears of anger in her words, like thunder rumbling and lightening stabbing through the skies in New Orleans. "It's everywhere, and we're never going to get away from it."

I slid off the bed and dared to approach her. "Yes, we will." My words felt hollow, even in my own mouth, but I said it with as much conviction as I could while my fingers twined around hers.

She looked up at me and the anger burned away, leaving behind a hollow ache. Her lips lifted into a terribly sad smile and I knew the reason. I knew the reason and it tore what remained of my soul to shreds anytime I let myself think about it for too long.

"One day," she whispered to me.

"_Un jour,_" (one day) I murmured back.

We were meeting in a different spot this time, in a narrow ally with no way out for the two of us. The heat of summer made the air pungent with the smell of trash and debris, oil slick and heavy in my nose. Jules and I stood waiting with our goods in hand, ready to deliver.

Right at midnight a car rolled up to the curb, the glow of its headlights cutting through the opening to the ally the only sign of its presence. Three men all with heavy steps emerged and came towards us, their faces largely obscured due to the darkness and the headlights behind them. I forced the shaking in my hands to die down as they stopped about three feet in front of us.

Jules snagged the bag of guns and walked forward, her confident stride lending her all the help it could. She dropped the bag at their feet and stepped back, holding her head high. The two men in the sides dropped down to a crouch at the snapping fingers of the man in the middle.

"It's all there," Jules said firmly.

"Well let's hope so. I'd hate for the first transaction between us and Dane to go poorly." The voice was a heavily accented Russian growl. I tried not to shiver when I saw the flash of gun barrels in holsters underneath their jackets.

"It's all there, boss."

Lebedev snapped his fingers and he was passed a brief case. Jules took it from him and retreated back to my side. Due to the darkness it was easier to hide, but because I knew what to look for, I could see the tremors in her fingers as they curled over the leather handle.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Lebedev muttered, cold eyes flashing in the dim light as he lifted a cigar up to his mouth.

Jules nodded and we remained in the ally while Lebedev and his cronies picked up the bag of guns and retreated back to their car. It was only after the headlights vanished and all was quiet again that we moved.

"Thank God," I breathed.

"Now all we have to do is get back down to New Orleans, deliver this, and then we're done." Jules's voice was shaking just a little. I was almost tempted to open my mouth to say something to the contrary but shut it just as quickly. I wasn't about to shoot myself in the foot like that. Did it make me selfish? Sure. What can I say? I don't want to be without the only person who's been at my side for ten years. Just add it to my lengthy rap sheet.

We emerged from the ally and crossed the street and headed up the road towards the crumbling parking lot where we had stashed our car. We'd parked the car near a dilapidated building and I tried not to think about the fact that this would be a great place to dump a body. We were halfway across the lot when I heard a voice on the oily Boston air.

"Well that was fine work ladies, very fine, if I didn't know better I'd say you two been doing this all your lives."

We both whipped around, hearts between our teeth, breath caught in our throats. We were faced with a single man in his late forties or early fifties, a mop of sandy brown hair carefully slicked back away from his weathered face. He was dressed sharply but not overstated, so I didn't get the gangster vibe. His voice dragged just a little, but not with an accent, more like he just liked to hear himself talk.

"Who the fuck are you?" I growled. I had a switchblade in my pocket, but if this guy meant to do us harm, our best bet was probably to run.

"Who the fuck am I? I'm the fucking guy that's gonna keep you princesses out of jail. Or out of the grave."

He came closer now and Jules and I both held our ground. She was sizing him up and now I too checked for weapons on his person, and sure enough, there was a pistol beneath his arm, but the look in his eyes wasn't threatening.

"Oh is that so? If you think you're getting anything other than an ass kicking from us you got another thing coming!" I snarled coldly. A bad chill was crawling up and down my spine and I hoped like hell my bravado was enough to get him to back off.

"You might wanna check your tone there, little girl. We've been watching you for two days, and we've got _a lot _to talk about."

Jules spun at the sound of a new voice, this one a pronounced Southern drawl. A woman approached from the man's flank, short spiky black hair fluttering in the hot breeze that just picked up, insanely pointed high heels clicking on the gritty pavement of the parking lot.

"Like what?" Jules demanded, speaking for the first time. Her tone was cooler than mine, barely concealed ice beneath the words.

"Like this." The man tossed a bundle at Jules which she caught midair and dared to unwind the rubber band from. When she unwrapped the newspaper and looked at the package I saw her face go from stern to horrified. I hurried to her side and looked at what was in her hands but immediately wished that I hadn't.

Pictures. Large, glossy pictures of a terribly gruesome crime scene. Men, women, children, all laid out dead, blood spattered everywhere. One of the children's eyes were still open, staring up and so afraid that I felt the echo of that fear kick me right in the throat.

"What is this?" Jules whispered, her voice shaking as she thrust the pictures back at the man. It was the woman who took them even as Jules ducked her head, her breathing now audible and her hands clenching into fists.

"That blood is on your hands." The man's voice was softer now, the drag gone and all seriousness coating the words.

"Why!" Jules snarled. It wasn't like her to be so emotional, that was usually my issue, but this was one sore point with her. I grabbed her arm before she could raise it to slap the man and hauled her a few steps away. His female companion I noticed also had a gun tucked on her hip beneath her coat.

"Those people were murdered with the guns you brought here and sold to Moretti. This hit was called by Moretti because of a split off between his group of Italians. They killed their guy alright. And his family. And two other bystanders. We just got word that two more died at the hospital this evening. That makes ten people who died from this one run. And you just sold a fresh batch to the Russians. Now that the Italian competition is out of the way, who the fuck do you think is next?" It was the woman who spoke, and eyed me with cold fury in her eyes.

"You can't…we…we didn't have a choice…" Jules whispered. I could see her starting to go to pieces. She was shaking almost uncontrollably now, practically vibrating with anger and fear and pain. I grabbed her by the wrists and tugged her a few steps away and pulled her down close to me, throwing my arms around her, my fingers buried in her hair as I spoke into her ear.

_"Calmez-vous!" _(Calm down!) I pleaded quietly, my own voice beginning to shake as well. If she fell apart now…if she cracked…it could be weeks before I could bring her back, and we didn't have that kind of time. _"Vous ne pouvez pas s'écrouler ici. Nous devons rester ensemble, nous serons ok, je vous promets, restez avec moi." _(You can't fall apart here. We have to stick together, we'll be ok, I promise, just stay with me.) I stroked her hair, pulling her firmly against me._ "Reste avec moi, s'il vous plaît." _(Stay with me, please.) I repeated it over and over again.

She finally stopped shaking in my arms. Her fingers curled around my upper arm and bit in with a vice like grip, but I let her bruise me until she found the strength on her own to stand up. I exhaled a breath with her and even though she was still shivering she let go.

"I'm ok."

It was a lie but if she could maintain until we could figure out exactly what the fuck to do that was all that mattered. I turned back to the two strangers.

"So what, are you police or something? Why the hell do you care about us? We're just the runners. If you know enough to know what those guns did, then you must know that we don't mean anything in all of this." It was a bluff, but it was all I had.

The man sighed quietly as if exasperated. "My name is Paul Smecker, and this is Eunice Bloom. And yes, we _were_ police. And we're not interested in you, personally. We want the one you work for. But we have something you might want to know about. Two men that are known to South Boston as Saints. And when they find out about this, they're gonna be coming for any and all who had anything to do with it. Including the two of you. So you might be interested in what we have to say."

I narrowed my eyes and Jules looked at me slowly. "Saints?" she asked, her voice soft and wondering. "They're in jail aren't they? I heard about it on the news."

I wouldn't be surprised if she knew what they were talking about and I didn't. I didn't usually watch the news, it did nothing but depress me, but Jules was more interested in about what was going on in the world.

"Yeah, they're in jail, but not for much longer. We want them out, because they're the only ones who are gonna do anything about the atrocity in the city, and your boss. Now, if you wanna save your hides when they break loose, then I suggest you make like beer guzzling NASCAR fans on a Sunday running for the living room couch at the sound of the National Anthem and help us." Bloom's drawl was excited and her eyes flashed like two light bulbs popping in a power surge.

I turned to Jules. She was still visibly very shaken but there was enough coherence in her eyes for me to get through to her. So I hoped anyway.

_"Ne sonne pas comme nous avons beaucoup de choix." _(Doesn't sound like we have much choice.) I said quietly.

She nodded slowly. Her eyes were still vacant and terribly dazed and I wondered if this is what I looked like when I was in a haze, and if she had ever been this afraid for me. I wouldn't doubt it if it was the case. I turned back to the two cops, former cops, whatever the fuck they were.

"What did you have in mind?"


	6. Chapter Five

**_I shall attempt to apologize for the lateness of this update. Again. Just...yeah, if you feel like it, go ahead and just kill me for making you guys wait so long. I totally deserve it at this point xD_**

**Guest**: _More, more! I'm so happy you posted another chapter, I was so worried you had given up on this story. I know your really busy with your outside life and writing another story but you can't give up on this one! it's too good! Please update soon I can't get enough!_

Nope, haven't given up! I'm just so busy with school and work these days, writing is having to take a back seat. But I won't give up, promise! I love this fandom waaaay too much to give up on it.

**RedneckBunny**: _WHOO-HOO! So happy you wrote another chapter for this! Can't wait for more!_

I'd actually written most of this chapter forever ago and just needed to finish and edit it, but then life took over and strangled my muse for a while, but I hope I am back. I promise I won't give up on it. I refuse to let that happen. And now, at last, the boys and the girls finally get to really meet ;)

* * *

"There's Nothing Wrong With Just a Taste of What You've Paid For"

_May 20th _

"Are you sure we can't at least go by Doc's and say hi? It ain't right, we been gone for eight months, we should drop in on him, especially for a shot or two…"

Connor and Murphy both had been trying to convince us for the last hour and a half to detour into Southie but Jules refused to do it. We had strict orders from Smecker and Bloom not to deliver them into the hands of the old pub manager. It wasn't as if Doc would ever betray them- never. After we'd left the church Jules had taken over the driving. Nobody ever liked it when I drove…and I didn't really blame them either.

"For the millionth time, they have McGuinty's under surveillance! And your old flat, and Rocco's old flat, and Romeo's uncle, and anybody else you've ever spoken to since you moved to Boston!" My patience with the two boys was wearing extremely thin. We'd been on the road for almost two hours heading back into Boston and the longer we were in the car the more antsy both brothers became, fidgeting like mad in the back seat. Five minutes into the drive I had caved and given them both cigarettes from my pack just to soothe their nicotine deprived souls. Jules of course had disapproved.

"Oh come on, you could have probably gotten them to quit if you'd of just held out long enough."

"I doubt that, lass," Connor had purred as he'd exhaled a great plume of smoke out the car window. Murphy had actually groaned softly when he'd taken his first hit, leaning back and closing his eyes.

"Isn't smoking against the rules?" I asked as the scenery changed from highways and byways and began to become clustered with buildings as we neared Boston.

"Oh aye, technically," Connor agreed, puffing another breath. "But so is everything else worth doing. Fortunately for us the good Lord forgives and all good boys go to heaven."

"As if you qualify," Murphy snickered in the back seat, which brought up a laugh from me too.

"Oh right, like you've got your name written in the Book of Life either," Connor retorted with a scowl.

I listened to them banter, only half paying attention, really only taking any of it in when I heard an unfamiliar term. I knew some vague things about Catholicism, mostly because my mother had been Catholic, but my Protestant father had resisted in forcing me to practice as my mother did. In the end all their efforts were for naught. I didn't believe one word of it now, and I was convinced I never would.

We were barely inside the Boston city limits, Jules doing her utmost to be the perfect driver so no nosy cops would run our plates, we pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store and killed the engine. She twisted around in the driver's seat and fixed both Irishmen with a steady look. "Alright gentlemen, as I don't trust you not to A, make a terrible scene in which we all get chased by police, or B get shot to shit by gangsters, you two stay here while me and Will run in and grab a few things."

They immediately protested at being treated like children, especially Murphy, which incited an indignant rebuttal from Connor, which caused wrestling match between the two, making the car rock back and forth.

"Alright enough!" I barked at the two of them. "Jesus Christ you're gonna rip the car apart!"

"Lord's name," Murphy scolded me. "Come on lass, let us out. We been cooped up in feckin' _prison _for eight months. Give us another smoke and let us stretch our legs."

I glanced at Jules and she shrugged. "It's your necks if you get recognized." I rolled my eyes as both boys began to plead to be let out, that they'd be good and wouldn't cause trouble.

"Alright, alright, alright you miserable hounds. Everybody out."

They all but howled for joy and we all piled out of the car. Jules was laughing as Connor literally did a couple laps around the car before skidding to a halt in front of me. Both boys were fixing me with a pleading look and I sighed and dug my pack of smokes out of my pocket again and handed them one. Murphy tried to snag another to tuck behind his ear but I slapped his hand away.

"Ah, ah, I see you mister," I chided. "You'll never win slight of hand with me. I am the best."

Murphy fixed me with a devious stare. "Is that so?" Connor was also watching me curiously.

I hummed idly in acknowledgement. "_Ouais," _(yeah) I answered. I glanced at Jules for a minute and couldn't stop the wicked grin that found it's way on my face. "Watch this," I hissed.

Both boys locked their eyes on me as I approached Jules. She was fumbling with the money clip that had the cash in it given to us by Smecker and Bloom so that we could load up on cheap road food, alcohol, and cigarettes while we were in Boston. I didn't ask where the money had come from. Never look a gift horse in the mouth.

"You about ready, Jules?" I asked.

She nodded, slinging her small purse over her shoulder. "Yeah, just about. I just wanted to have the cash in hand so we know exactly what we got to play with."

"Where's the list?" I questioned. I had spent some time writing one down in the car and had tucked it in her bag a while ago.

"Oh for Pete's sake," Jules huffed as she set her bag back on the hood of the car and began to dig through it. I slid behind her and with the softest touch ducked my hand into her back pocket and came away nice and clean with the money clip packed full of cash. In one smooth movement I finished passing behind her and leaned up against the hood of the car, the money clip in my pocket now.

"Here," she said, handing me list.

I took the paper from her and glanced at both boys. "Well come on then," I called.

They both were staring at me with wide eyes, their expressions caught somewhere between slightly mystified horror and intrigue.

"You have to teach us that!" Connor hissed excitedly as we all made our way into the store.

I snickered. "I don't think so. You would use it for nefarious groping purposes."

"As if," Murphy snorted. "Can't get a good feel from such a light touch, no point to it."

Connor was distracted while Jules was bent over grabbing a hand basket to put our groceries in. I caught him staring, not surprised by it really. A lot of people stared at Jules. Especially when she wore these specific jeans.

"Oh I don't know about that, brother," Connor said, a dark, lusty heat in his eyes.

"You're going to Hell," I teased as I slipped past both boys and took my place at Jules side.

The trip was relatively uneventful, thank God. In the end we ended up with two bottles of Bushmills, three packs of smokes, a twelve pack of Guinness, a bunch of frozen pizza and burritos and other assorted food stuffs that when complied together looked like a college kid's all you can eat buffet. By the time we were back in the car I was well on my way to thinking that we were gonna get lucky and nothing bad was going to happen. But when we got back to the hotel room there were half a dozen messages on our phone. There was only one person that had this number besides us.

"You should handle this," Jules murmured quietly to me.

"What's going on?" Connor demanded as he and Murphy helped put away the groceries in the small kitchen.

"Our employer wants to get a hold of us," I said darkly. "You two, keep your mouths shut!" I hissed.

Murphy shut his mouth but Connor glared at me darkly, as if he didn't like the idea of being ordered about by a pint size little thing like me. I could see his point, but that didn't mean I wouldn't go over there and smack the snot out of him if he gave me half a reason.

I hit the redial button and waited with baited breath, sitting down on the bed and wrapping the cord around my wrist. I knew we were late already coming back down to New Orleans and already I was spinning a story in my head in order to cover our tracks. By the time Dane picked up I had rehearsed it a couple times.

"I hope you have a good reason for being late," Dane growled.

"Well if you hadn't sent us all the way to a city that's literally crumbling from top down, I wouldn't have been. Our car broke down, it took an entire day to find a garage that would do the repairs. We won't be getting out of here for at least another day or two."

I could hear Dane hissing a breath between clenched teeth. "If you think you can con me, Willow Schmitt, you are sorely mistaken."

"This isn't a con," I said smoothly, although my hand was shaking. "Think about it, Dane. Why the hell would I cross you? And if I was going to, why would I return your call? I'm not stupid. I wanna actually make it out of this shit-storm alive."

He paused for a moment, rolling my answer around. "I hope for your sake that's true. You call me the minute you get back on the road. I'll be expecting you."

"Will do."

I hung up the phone and then immediately kicked the nightstand as hard as I could in frustration and fear. Pain lanced through my toe and all I could do was heave an exasperated sigh and try not to punch the wall so I wouldn't break my fingers.

"Oi, the fuck was that all about?" Murphy demanded. He popped the tab on the can of Guinness and took a long swig, staring at me like I'd grown another head.

"Part of the reason why you're here," Jules said quietly.

"Whatcha mean, lass?" Connor asked, more gently than his brother's remark, but his eyes were darker now.

Jules glanced at me. We had not forgotten Smecker's threat about these Irishmen and how they were going to have it out for anybody who had anything to do with the shootout that had just happened a few days ago. I could see she didn't want to explain it without Smecker and Bloom here as backup but I was sick of sitting on it. This is the other reason why we don't run long cons. I'm too damn impatient. I'd rather just have the shit hit the fan and be done with it already, but Jules was giving me that pleading look. The one that was begging me to just keep quiet.

_"Nous devons leur dire. Ils découvriront tôt ou tard." _(We need to tell them. They'll find out sooner or later.)

Jules's gaze hardened and I could see she didn't want to give in. I slipped out from around the bed and approached her where she was seated at the small counter that separated the kitchenette and the sleeping area of the room. _"Nous sommes arrivés à sortir de prison. Pensez-vous vraiment que ils vont nous tuer?" _(We got them out of prison. Do you really think they're gonna kill us?)

She stared at me long and had and spoke slowly. _"Je ne veux pas le savoir." _(I don't want to find out.)

I paused and thought about my options. I knew I had hurt her badly already by getting us into this mess in the first place, and I decided to respect her wishes. I swallowed down the words in my throat and nodded slowly. The relief that eased out of her was palpable.

The boys watched us closely even as they started getting the small oven hot to heat the frozen pizza through. When it was baking we all found ourselves sitting at the counter and now both Irishmen twisted off the cap to the bottles of whiskey.

"You might wanna save some of that," Jules said darkly as she watched both Connor and Murphy take a long pull.

"Jesus Christ, are your throats made out of steel or something?" I asked as they downed a good two or three shots worth of the amber fluid without even coming up for air, and when they finally did, Murphy snickered at me.

"Lord's feckin name," he chided. "And don't worry girl, you stick with us long enough, we'll teach ya how to drink too." His brogue had become significantly more pronounced now and for some reason it made me laugh.

I swiped the bottle right out of his hand. I knew I was going to regret this but I was nothing if not determined to be as brazen as the two of them. I took a slug of the whiskey, bracing for the intensity of the burn.

It didn't hit, at least not immediately. This was far smoother than the Jack Daniels I would occasionally shoot in New Orleans and various other states below the Mason Dixon line. This was cooler in my mouth, a sour tang bubbling up as I swished my tongue through it, but as I rolled the liquid around the burn began to sear through me and I swallowed hard. I was almost coughing by the time I got it down, my body shaking as the burn sank its claws into my nose and throat and dug in for the long haul. I shuddered and shoved the bottle back towards Murphy.

"Ya alright there lass? Ya should know, never try to out drink an Irish boy, but especially a MacManus." Murphy's tone was cool but there was humor glinting in his dark blue eyes.

Jules smacked me hard on the back and I staggered off my chair and grabbed the cheap bottle of sangria that Jules and I had bought at the store on our food run. It wasn't even corked, and I quickly twisted off the cap and chased the whiskey with a good swallow of it. It was almost bitter and harsh on my tongue, but it silenced the burn and soothed the sting in my mouth and throat.

"That's not alcohol. That's gasoline," I muttered once I could finally breathe.

Connor's laugh rumbled in his throat as he took another pull on his bottle. "What about you, Jules? Ya got a taste for whiskey?"

Jules smiled slowly, the heat coming off her not unlike the whiskey itself. Her eyes smoldered as she found Connor's gaze, and as I looked her over, I could already tell she was thinking salacious thoughts. Get enough alcohol in her and she might even follow through; I had little doubt Connor would mind if she took advantage of him.

"Not normally. I typically like vodka, sometimes rum, but if I can get my hands on it, my favorite drink is absinthe." She eyed the bottle in Connor's hand and he quickly scooped up the glass she'd been using and poured her a healthy measure of whiskey.

"Knock it back. Might as well know what you're missin'," His brogue was thicker now as well, and there was heady warmth in his gaze and flushing just underneath his skin.

Murphy murmured something to him in what I was going to guess was Gaelic. For some reason the thought that they knew the native tongue of their homeland when so many Irish immigrants didn't made me smile inside. I guess it was a show of loyalty in some way, and that was a damn hard thing to find these days, in any sort of reckoning.

_"Seulement parce que si je le fais pas, je vais souhaiter que j'aurais." _(Only because if I don't, I'll wish I would have.) She picked up the glass and tipped the shot back. She took it down much smoother than I had mine, barely even flinching at the burn. She flicked her tongue to catch a drop that had spilled on her lip and blinked her eyes at Connor.

"Not quite gasoline, but almost."

I snickered and poured myself another splash of wine and drank again. By the time we'd all scarfed the pizza and the whiskey bottles were close to being two thirds empty there was a knock on our door. I slid off my stool to answer it and felt the world sway just a little. I shook it off as much as I could and twisted the knob to let in our guests.

"Good God, did you guys open up a brewery in here?" Bloom's drawl was a little too loud for my taste but I chose not to say anything as she and Smecker swept in. I shut the door behind them as the others began to clear off empty plates and cups, creating space for them to sit down.

"Want something to melt your insides?" Jules asked. She tended to get a little bit more mouthy when she'd been drinking, whereas I typically become more relaxed.

"Two shots, straight up, you Yankee girls might like your pretty wines, but man a shot of whiskey sounds good right about now," Bloom laughed. Connor chuckled and poured two healthy measures of the amber fluid from his bottle. I was amazed that either brother was steady on his feet or with his hands after so much alcohol, but maybe it was something to do with the fact that they were Irish. Or men. Or so used to drinking battery acid that it didn't phase them.

"Hey, we ain't Yanks!" Jules barked from where she was leaning up against the wall. "We're from Boston!"

Smecker broke into hysterical laughter. "Alright, someone cut the lovely young lady off before she hurts herself. Murph, pour a man another shot," he asked, holding out his cup.

The alcohol kept flowing and I slid back into my seat across from Murphy. I noticed that as the evening had worn on he was watching me closely. The way he looked at me was unlike I'd ever had any man watch me before. It looked like he was trying to undress me with his eyes. If I had been sober, perhaps I would have protested to his scrutiny, but as it stood, it made a flush of intoxicating heat move through me. I may be a lying con artist, but it took no pains, or any lie, to say Murphy was one of the best looking men I'd ever laid my eyes on. If he found me attractive, especially when stacked up next to Jules, I wasn't about to say no to that. But as I continued watching him, I saw that there was more than lust and a man who had been deprived thanks to imprisonment. He was watching me in a way that said he was trying to take me apart, like he was trying to dig his fingers into the meat of me and pull back the flesh so he could see the bone. Yet it was not with anger or some kind of salacious intent that made me feel afraid. It was intense and nerve wracking, but it wasn't enough to scare me. That would change soon enough.

"We're good and liquored up now, so go on and tell us, why are we here, Smecker?" Connor's brogue was thick but despite the amount of whiskey he'd had, his eyes were relatively clear.

"You're here because of one Calvin Dane." Smecker's voice was heavy. He wrapped his fingers around his glass, which still had a measure of whiskey inside. He knocked it back and swallowed hard around the burn before continuing. "Calvin Dane might very well be the next Al Capone as it were, but worse. And we have good reason to think that he's gonna set up shop in Boston. Bloom and I both know by now that our old comrades in arms on the force won't be enough to stop him. The two of you though…"

"The two of you are the exact kind of justice he needs." Bloom's drawl grew thicker the more whiskey she drank. "He's an evil son of a bitch if ever one walked the earth."

"What's he done?" Murphy asked quietly.

"Six or seven years ago he showed up out of nowhere in New Orleans. Quiet-like at first, working his way into the organized crime business with the gambling houses in the Big Easy. Gambling might be legal, but Dane's got his hand in any business that pays well. Drugs, prostitution, human trafficking, running guns, money laundering, murder for higher, you name it. If it pays well, he'll do it. Dane's not really a gangster in that he gives a shit about family loyalty or anything like that. He's a businessman. His main prerogative is money. That's all he cares about. If he had kids, I'm sure he'd be just as quick to kill them if he thought he could turn a profit doing it."

Connor and Jules shuddered simultaneously. My fingers curled around my cup and I was tempted to reach for the whiskey but I refrained. My head was already swimming.

"Dane wiped out anybody that stood in his way in New Orleans. He owns the city now. He paid off, black-mailed, threatened, tortured, or killed anybody that tried to stop him. Other gang members, police, even a couple DA's and a judge. Not that they can ever make anything stick because they can't find the bodies." Smecker's eyes were dark and the haggard lines of his face seemed to become deeper and filled with shadows in the watery light of the hotel room.

"Dane is looking to expand his empire, and Boston is the perfect place to start. The city is already used to being controlled by mobs, the police are so ineffective they can't even do much about what trouble we already have, let alone someone as organized and as ruthless as Dane. He's been setting up shop here ever so slowly, making business contacts, because Dane never does anything unless there is a profit involved. But he wants his take over to be as smooth and as easy as possible." Bloom's eyes flashed as she zeroed her gaze in on Connor and Murphy. "The Italian and Russian mobs here are fractured and barely holding themselves together. Dane could swoop in now and finish them off on his own if he wanted, but it's easier to let them kill each other. Or kill themselves as it were."

She pushed a newspaper across the counter towards Connor, who unfolded it and the headline with his brother. It was of course about the massive shootout that had left ten dead, two kids amongst them. There was a spread of pictures and large block lettering outlining the details of the atrocity.

"Who did this?" Murphy growled, throwing the paper back towards Bloom.

"One Adolfo Moretti. He called for the hit on a member of his own mob that was trying to overthrow him. But he needed fresh guns. Guns with no ties to anyone in Boston, and clean bullets too. We don't know who is manufacturing these guns, or the bullets, which are some of the worst creations I've ever seen. One of our old friends on the force was able to get me a spent round. It's designed to penetrate body armor. These people were set up like lambs for slaughter, insides ripped out like they were redecorating with blood for paint." Smecker's voice was grim and his eyes were sickened.

"Where the fuck did he get these kind of guns?" Connor demanded angrily.

I squirmed and so did Jules. I really wish I had knocked back another shot but now I was afraid to reach too close to the Saints. Halfway into the evening they had taken out the guns that Jules and I had given them when we'd first sprung them loose from the prison bus and had begun to clean and load them. Now they were resting like a bad omen on the counter.

Smecker was watching us intently, as was Bloom, who had her glass up to her red lips. The boys followed their gazes and the air suddenly became like ice and it hurt to breathe.

"Will?" Murph asked softly.

"Just hear me out…"

Both men jumped up from the counter and now Jules and I also were on our feet. Glasses spilled, bottles tipped over, alcohol splashed onto the floor as I scrambled back, throwing myself across the bed to try and put distance between me and the Irishmen. Jules followed, but thanks to both of us being inebriated we were clumsy and both men snagged their guns off the counter and leveled them at us.

"Talk fast," Connor growled.

I squirmed and quivered like a newborn colt. "We didn't mean for this to happen!" I whimpered.

"Did you bring those guns? You're from New Orleans, right? You brought those guns and sold them to Moretti? On Dane's orders?" The level of Connor's voice rose, anger ripping open every syllable.

"We did!" I panted. I gripped the edge of the bed between me and the two Saints, in part to keep me from tipping over, and in part to keep from shaking so badly. "We did but we didn't do it for profit or personal gain or because we're loyal to Dane. I swear!"

"Why!" Murphy demanded. His finger hadn't left the trigger, but I noticed that the hammer wasn't cocked back. I gathered all the courage I think I'd ever had and shoved it up through my skin and forced it to show through my words.

"We want to get rid of Dane as much as you do! But if you want to make that happen, you're gonna need our help."

"Why did you run those fucking guns?" Connor insisted. He had his gun on Jules and Murphy had his on me. The lighter of the twins was looking mostly at Jules, but every so often his gaze would sear through me, just like Murphy's would burn through Jules. My partner in crime stayed close to me, not saying a word, letting this ride on me because it really was all my fault. Plus she was too frightened to really speak, I could see it in her face.

"We're from Boston," I started slowly. "Ten years ago a terrible incident happened. Me and Jules have been on the run ever since. We tangled with Dane while we were in New Orleans and when we found out who we were, he blackmailed us into helping him. His usual runners have started to get picked up by police, he needed someone new, and the fact we're from Boston made it all the better. Please, I swear on my life, we didn't do this willingly. We might be lying cons, but we're not killers." I wish I could have sounded tougher and not so damn frightened, but it wasn't every day I was being held up with menacing handgun in the hands of two men who had already killed over fifty of Boston's finest criminals.

Murphy came around from the bed, still holding the gun steady as a rock in his hand. His stance was predatory and his eyes scorched me like glowing embers pressed to skin.

"Why should we believe you?" His voice was softer than I would have expected it to be. "If ya really are lyin' cheats like ya say ya are, how do we know yer not workin' for Dane like you say you're not? Or for the police? They'd pay a mighty shiny penny to see us taken down, one way or the other."

I went for broke because there was nothing else I could do. Murphy didn't look like he really wanted to kill me, but he might if he thought it was the best call. Connor looked roughly the same about as he surveyed Jules, and I had to question just how deep their religious conviction ran. Blood memories ran across my mind's eye in a thin but potent river. Ancient whispers that I dare not show weakness or they would tear me apart for that reason alone. My logical side wanted to believe that they were good men and wouldn't give in to such savagery, but I've seen too much of the world to fully trust that hope.

"It doesn't matter," I started. I lifted my chin, an act of boldness that I could see sparked something in Murphy, but just what that was I didn't know. "If you want Dane, you're going to need our help."

"Oh how's that?" Connor demanded coldly, his brogue more of a snarl now, and there was fire in his blue eyes.

"Who do you think is gonna get you close to him? I doubt you two know anybody in New Orleans. We want Dane dead just as much you two. But if you want him, you're going to need us." I shot Connor a definitive look and he swiveled his eyes back to Jules who had remained silent all this time. I switched my gaze back to Murphy who was closer to me than his brother. My eyesight narrowed to the muzzle of his gun, but as soon as he moved my field of vision expanded to take in every twitch of motion.

He took another step towards me, moving out from around the bed, right into my face, and now he was close enough that I could smell his scent. A rough combination of smoke and whiskey, but underneath it was a cool yet heady flavor like the wind right before a thunderstorm broke. It was a good smell and I found myself almost shaking. He hadn't let go of the gun and kept it level right at my heart.

"Ya afraid o' me, girl?" he asked, his accent thick.

I don't know what made me say it. Call it intuition. Maybe it was my own guardian angel whispering advice in my ear, but I was past the point of caring. "Should I be?"

Murphy paused and looked me over long and hard before jerking his head just slightly and taking a step back and lowering his gun. Connor did the same and I exhaled for the first time in probably minutes.

"No," Murphy answered me softly.

He and Connor walked back around to the kitchen and sat down at the bar and Jules leaned onto the bed slowly. I could see the impending signs of her meltdown showing up, but this was merely a physical one, something I was infinitely grateful for. I literally dragged her away from the still tense scene and pushed her into the bathroom. Normally I would have stayed with her while she was paying the piper for so much alcohol, but not with the two boys and cops right at my back. I locked the door to give her some privacy and was fortunate for the bathroom was down a small hallway that afforded silence for the rest of us when I came back into the kitchen.

"Did we really scare ya that badly?" Connor asked.

I glared at him, grabbed the whiskey bottle, and tossed down that shot I'd been contemplating most of the night. I shuddered a bit and groaned, my fingers biting into the edge of the bar, and I couldn't help it when my head ducked between my shoulders. I was gonna pay for that shot later, but after a few seconds I managed to pick my head up and look at Connor. "She might be taller, but she doesn't hold her liquor as well as I do."

"I think everyone's had just about enough," Bloom muttered. She slid off her stool and began the somewhat laborious process of cleaning up. I took my seat back across from Murphy who was still watching me, and I'd be a liar if I said that he did indeed make me nervous. Mostly because I couldn't tell what it was that was in his eyes. Some shadowed haze that was muddled by the alcohol and the stress still lingering in the room.

"I think we ought to know what incident happened in Boston that put you and Jules on the map to be career criminals," Smecker said. Despite Bloom's urging to put the bottle down, he poured himself another shot and tossed it back without even flinching. Murphy shifted in his seat, tilting his head at me, obviously agreeing with Smecker's suggestion.

I shook my head. "You don't need to know. All you need to know is that me and Jules will help you get a hold of Dane so you can blast his head off."

Murphy's lip twitched. "I think we do need to know. I mean how are we supposed to trust you? You just said that you two are lyin' cons."

My teeth grated as my fingers curled into fists on my thighs. I was about to spit back an icy, venomous retort when Jules suddenly remerged from the bathroom, looking much more put together than before. She swept in and grabbed a hair tie off of the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed and began to braid her hair.

"We've been running cons for ten years, Murphy, and if I have ever learned anything, its that you can't con an honest man. Now if you claim to be the ones to take out the bad guys, I don't think you should feel all that bad about bad men just being dealt a little of their own karma. We don't set out to hurt anybody. Just support ourselves." Her voice was cool and almost impenetrable. I could tell she'd slid back into her skin as an actress and in this moment I was grateful for it.

"There's legal ways of doin' that," Connor murmured as he took another mouthful of whiskey down. The bottle was down to its dregs.

"Yeah, go find them when you're a fifteen year old girl without any education or job experience." Jules' eyes were hard as slate as she stared at him.

"Jules is right. But it's pointless anyway. The past isn't what we're here for. We're here for Dane," I reiterated.

"No, you're here right now to deal with the slayings of nine innocent victims that were collateral damage in the murder of one gangster," Bloom spoke from the sink where she was washing dishes. "Then you'll be down in New Orleans for Dane."

Murphy nodded. I noticed that he was fidgeting so I tossed my pack of cigarettes onto the counter and immediately he took two, handing one to Connor, and then lit his own, taking a long drag.

"Aye," he agreed quietly. "We could use your help finding who was responsible for it too."

"Dolly and Duffy are working on that now. They should hopefully have a name for us by morning, maybe a location too. If they managed to keep their heads above the Guinness tap at whatever bar they've trolled through looking for the filthy gossip." Smecker snickered a little and I raised my eyebrows. Bloom just shook her head, her short black hair swishing a little. Murphy upended his bottle of whiskey and exhaled another stream of smoke before letting out a stream of what was probably Gaelic to his brother, who responded in kind.

"Maybe you two could help us with that? Sometimes pretty girls can get people to talk more than guys can." It was Connor to suggest it but Murphy nodded slightly in agreement.

"No. Nobody goes out tonight. You two are far too recognizable in Boston, if you tried to make a hit now, the police would be all over you. The first thing they'll suspect is that you came back to the city. You have to keep a low profile. We'll set up the hit for the mob carefully so that you two can get in and out without being shot to shit by police." Smecker's voice was firm and his eyes were dark.

"What do you mean shot?" Murphy demanded, rounding on the cop.

"You two are wanted for more than fifty murders of Boston's finest criminals. They know you'll be armed, they sure as shit know you're dangerous. Fuck, even Greenly knew that little tidbit of information before he even met you two." He paused at the mention of the man's name and I watched as a wave of sadness rippled through the group. "And now you've succeeded in breaking out of prison. So now, they're not interested in taking prisoners." His voice was grim.

Bloom nodded. "With Cunty in charge, he'll have a standing order of shoot to kill. You two would be very big pretty peacock feathers in his cap. And we just can't have that."

There was a long pause and I was surprised when Jules was the one to break it. "So what happens now?"

Smecker glanced at his watch. "Me and Bloomy have somewhere to be. You four will stay here until we call for you."

They slid off their stools and bade us fare well and then came the awkward silence, but it wasn't silent for long.

"So how is it you can't con an honest man?" Connor questioned, his eyes fixed on the two of us, but I noticed he let his gaze linger on Jules a little longer.

Jules shrugged and glanced at me, indicating for me to do the talking. I slid into the kitchen and retrieved the bottle of cheap sangria from the fridge. I poured myself a healthy amount and nursed it for a moment.

"A con, by definition, works by appealing to the greed of the mark. A con won't work unless the mark is selfish, and willing to do something dishonest." I took a swallow of the wine. The tang was subtler and the flavor weak, but it gave my hands something to do. "Like for instance, the two of you, I could never con." I paused and let my lips close on the rim of my cup for a moment before lowering the drink and made eye contact with Jules. "But I could still make money off of you."

"Oh yeah, how's that?" Murphy demanded.

"Like this. Jules, you want a drink?" I asked, gesturing to the bottle of sangria on the counter.

She nodded. "Yeah, I could use one."

With a flourish I poured it for her and she pushed herself off the wall to come into the kitchen to retrieve it.

"Slight of hand happens to be very useful for making money quickly and silently," I started, fixing my eyes on both boys. Jules came into the kitchen and took the drink from me and when I blinked my eyes twice she downed it in one go and a ridiculous grin slid onto her face. "It's kind of like playing Twister. All about where you put your hands."

Jules snickered as she began to step around Murphy to head back towards the bed but as she did so her feet tangled and she went flying to the floor, the glass flying out of her hand but bounced harmlessly off the carpet.  
"Oi, ya alright lass?" Murphy and Connor both rushed to her side and I slid in behind them, as if I was trying to asses Jules' condition too.

"I just think she's had too much," Connor remarked.

"I'm fine, I'm just…drunk…" she had a silly grin plastered all over her but she weakly moved her feet and let her hand reach down to gingerly touch her ankle. "I think I twisted it."

As Connor and Murphy knelt down to gently try and make sure her ankle wasn't broken or sprained, I very lightly dove my hand into first Connor and then Murphy's pockets. I came away with both their wallets, lighters, and cigarettes, which I had all safely tucked away in my back pockets and by the time they stood up I had maneuvered myself to Jules' shoulder.

"Up ya go, girl, yer alright, I think ya just wanna lay off the sauce now." Connor reiterated. He helped her stand up and she softly put weight on her ankle and slowly stood up straight.

Both boys now turned back to me. "Now, what were you saying about making money off us?" Connor asked.

"Check your pockets gentlemen." I leaned up against the wall while they twisted around, patting down their jeans, and by the time they looked up to see where the contents of their pockets had gone, I had lit a cigarette from one pack and was exhaling a plume of smoke, playing with the other's lighter as I did so.

"How…what the fuck?" Murphy demanded.

I snickered and so did Jules. She then pranced over to me, ankle completely unharmed, because she had never really twisted it. Just pretended to. Twister was the code word for her to fake a fall or some other kind of injury so I could slip in behind whoever came to help her and pick their pockets. Normally I could lift cash or any other valuables and have the wallet tucked back into their pocket before Jules even looked up and made eye contact with me.

"First rule of being a criminal. You must pay attention. To everything." I tossed them back their wallets, smokes, and lighters before going to the bed and lounging on the firm surface, puffing another thick plume of smoke out. I finished the cigarette and kicked off my shoes. "You boys be good. I'm sure we'll have the helluva day tomorrow." I didn't even crawl under the blankets of the bed, I just collapsed onto my back and closed my eyes, promptly letting the alcohol sink me into black oblivion.

* * *

"That girl," Jules said with a slight shake of her head towards Will's eagle spread body on the hotel bed. "She thinks she can hold her liquor, but she'll be sick tomorrow." She began to nudge and pull Will's limbs until she had arranged her so that her head was supported by one of the pillows and the sheet was turned down so if she grew cold in the night she didn't have to work hard to get under the covers. Murphy watched Jules care for her with fascination until Jules sank down tiredly onto the other bed, slid out of her shoes and removed her jewelry, but she seemed unwilling to actually try and rest.

"Ya can get some sleep lass. We'll watch over ya," Murphy soothed, seeing her distressed and exhausted look.

Jules swiveled her eyes up at him. "Oh really?" she demanded. "An hour ago you had guns pointed at us."

"You're on our side now," Connor said smoothly. "Get some sleep. If anything happens, we'll wake you."

Jules couldn't fight it for much more. Slowly but surely she sank onto the bed and into the pillows and let her eyes close. The brothers gave it a few more minutes to make sure she really was asleep before addressing each other.

"Think we should tell them we speak French?"

Murphy's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. "Are ya kidding? And ruin the only edge we've got on them? Ya have lost it, brudder."

"Still could be fun, to surprise 'em with it," Connor snickered.

Murphy contemplated this. "Aye. But still. Best keep it secret fer now."

Connor nodded, but watched the way Murphy was watching Will. He could read his twin better than anyone else in the world, probably even better than their Ma, and he couldn't resist taking a shot at him.

"I saw ya starin'. Ya like her," he said, nodding towards Will.

Murphy snorted. "Don't even know da girl. Sides. Ya were leerin' at Jules all night, I'm surprised she didn't call da cops for harassment."

Connor shrugged and ignored his brother's jibe. It was true after all, he wasn't about to deny it. "Don't change ya like her. She gets all vulnerable and you practically turn to jelly. Think the slammer turned ya into marshmallow."

At this Murphy lunged and tried to knuckle his brother's skull and the two boys began to wrestle. It would have continued until one of them sat on each other's chest and made them cry Saint Patty but when they all but crashed through the wall they froze, both of them halfway into a headlock, legs tangled as they struggled to stay upright. Their eyes swiveled to the beds.

Jules hadn't even moved, but Will did, slow and clumsy with sleep. She didn't even seem to really be aware of them as she peeled off all her clothes and threw them to the floor before tangling up into the sheets again but not really covering up all that well. At first the boys just stared and watched the spectacle, but then hazy mutterings rose from Will's bed in French.

"_Sentir se ressembler maison,_" (Smells like home) she slurred before exhaling and passing out again.

Connor's eyebrows arched just as high as Murphy's had and they extricated themselves from their teasing brawl. "I think she likes ya too brudder."


End file.
